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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25804765">Smoke &amp; Mirrors / A Caustic and Mirage College AU</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jimikat/pseuds/jimikat'>jimikat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Apex Legends (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety, Can have little a fluff, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Embedded Images, Emotional Trauma, Flashbacks, Gay Male Character, M/M, Porn With Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Romantic Aggression, Rough Sex, Sexual Violence, Sexual Violence Ideation, Smut, Trying not to be an asshole, Trying to get along with your best friend’s friends, as a treat, explicit images, rape ideation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:55:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>73,739</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25804765</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jimikat/pseuds/jimikat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened at Humbert University wasn’t Alexander Nox’s fault. But he took the fall, and the expulsion that followed.</p><p>Now he’s transferring to ALU for the start of the spring semester, the state school his childhood friend Natalie Paquette attends. Maybe it’s time for a fresh start. Maybe this will be good. Maybe he can hunker down, finish his studies, and reconnect with his best friend.</p><p>Or so he thinks, until Natalie adds him to a group chat with her close-knit circle of friends. Not exactly the socialization he was hoping for.</p><p>Surviving them, and that obnoxious barista Elliott in particular, will take every ounce of strength he’s got left.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Caustic | Alexander Nox/Mirage | Elliott Witt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>157</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>71</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Door was Locked</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>
    
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Chapter One: Prologue</b><br/>
<em>The Door was Locked</em>
</p><p>“Franklin? Franklin, the door’s locked! Are you-”</p><p>Alexander Nox rattled the door handle again. Why the hell was the door locked? Franklin knew better than to do that when he was working alone. There was warm light pouring through the gap at the base of the door… bright light. Oddly flickering light...</p><p>Alexander raised his fist to the metal door, slamming it three times, echoing booms filling the dimly lit hallway of the university’s science building.</p><p>“Franklin, I’m being serious. Open this door.”</p><p><em>FWOOM</em>.</p><p>It sounded like an explosion. The sound of glass shattering pressed against the locked door, followed by a dull thud as something heavy hit the floor. A sharp fear wrapped icy fingers around Alexander’s heart.</p><p>“FRANKLIN!”</p><p>Fuck. Fuck, shit, fuck. He had to get this door open. <em>Now.</em></p><p>It would take too long to get maintenance. Too long to get help. If Franklin was doing what he thought he was…</p><p>Alexander stepped back, his heart racing, broad shoulders heaving with ill-restrained fear. He took another step back, then flung himself towards the door, angling his shoulder towards it. He hit it with a heavy, and painful, <em>THWUD</em>. It was a big, heavy door, meant to keep people out. Nothing about it suggested it would be interested in moving for him. But he was a big guy. He could do this.</p><p>He stepped back again, took a breath, again barreling himself against the door. He could just barely feel it budge against his strength.</p><p>He had to do it.</p><p>One last step back. One last breath. One last charge.</p><p>His body hit the door and he distantly was aware of the shooting pain in his shoulder, but the door gave way. Alexander staggered in, catching his balance. He couldn’t feel his fingers, but that didn’t matter.</p><p>He saw fire, but that didn’t matter.</p><p>He saw glass and chemicals and fumes rising heavily, but none of that mattered.</p><p>Franklin was lying on the floor, unmoving. Something thick and viscous was slowly spreading across the floor. Not chemicals from the lab, but a darkness seeping from vicious wounds from the man on the floor.</p><p>Alexander rushed towards him, on some level hearing his own voice screaming Franklin’s name, but having no control over the sounds his throat was making. His foot hit something slick and he crashed to the floor.</p><p>He knew he needed to stay calm, knew he needed to view the situation coldly, detached, decide upon priorities. He should get up, he should steady his nerves, he should move slowly and carefully, he should check for a pulse, he should deal with the fires, he should he should he should.</p><p>But the only thing he could think right now was to pull Franklin into his arms. If only he could touch him everything would be okay.</p><p>Franklin’s touch had always made everything okay. Had always calmed an anxious mind.</p><p>He scrambled across the floor to him. His grasping fingers gripped broken glass before he even realized what he’d done, slicing through skin. Maybe more.</p><p>His other hand grabbed a fistful of Franklin’s sweater, and he pulled himself to the man’s side, muttering his name as the fires raged around him, as his unprotected lungs sucked in the noxious fumes surrounding them. He heard voices as he clutched his partner to his chest, holding him tightly until his vision swam and unconsciousness pulled him into its inky depths.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A Fresh Start</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>  </b>
</p><p>
  <strong>Chapter Two</strong><br/>
<em>A fresh start</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Fresh starts are bullshit.</p><p>People glamorize them, make you think its going to be freeing, a rare and precious opportunity to reinvent yourself.</p><p>But it’s not. It’s just more work. Backtracking, lost progress.</p><p>It’s realizing your hypothesis was incorrect from the very beginning and scrapping everything you’d spent years of toil to build.</p><p>I suppose it’s important. It’s valuable. Any work lost to chase the truth isn’t really lost. It’s just a part of the process…</p><p>So why doesn’t it feel that way? Why doesn’t this fresh start feel… fresh?</p><p>Probably because I’m the same person. I’m the same disaster that got myself expelled in my junior year. I hadn’t meant to hurt him, but…</p><p>Well. No other school will take me. So here I am, at ALU. A state school of all places.</p><p>A long ways from prestigious Humbert University.</p><p>Starting over… What a concept.</p><p>The chance to reinvent yourself... It seems futile. An attempt to hide who you truly are, to craft an illusion around the parts of you that you hate most.</p><p>It’s just smoke and mirrors, desperately trying to obscure the hideousness lurking within all of us.</p><p>Within me.</p><p>I lean back against one of the few trees I’d found on this campus, trying to keep my mind from going there. Focus on something else. Focus on the world around you. Ugh… Most of it was concrete and brick. The few glimpses of nature were a welcome respite. I glance at my phone, wondering if I’d missed a text.</p><p>Natalie should have been here by now.</p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em><strong>Nat:</strong> you’re here already?! Yay!!! :D</em><br/>
<em><strong>Alex:</strong> Do you have time to meet up?</em><br/>
<em><strong>Nat:</strong> of cooooooourse! i’ll even give you the tour and stuff. EEEE.</em><br/>
<em><strong>Alex:</strong> Great. I’m by the one tree on this entire godforsaken campus, near the admin building.</em><br/>
<em><strong>Nat:</strong> I’ll find you :D</em><br/>
<em><strong>Alex:</strong> Nat? Are you coming?</em><br/>
<em><strong>Alex:</strong> Natalie?</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>I groan, drawing my eyes back up from the phone. Natalie was a good kid but… distractible. I wouldn’t be surprised if she stopped somewhere to help lead another poor, new lost soul to their proper place.</p><p>My gaze drops to my hand as I flex the remaining digits idly, grimacing at the soreness. The smallest fingers on this hand gone. It would take a while to heal fully. Even longer before the phantom sensations went away.</p><p>But I deserved this. For what happened… I could have lost more. Two fingers was a paltry sum, in the grand scheme of things. I deserved worse.</p><p>“Alex?!”</p><p>The call pulls me from steadily darkening thoughts.</p><p>As I manage to reorient my senses into reality, a petite figure launches herself at me, arms wrapping around my broad abdomen as she laughs.</p><p>God… I’d missed that laugh, so bright and melodious.</p><p>She cranes her neck to look up at me, still restraining me in her bear hug. Her chin rests on my chest, blue eyes squinting up with a smile. She isn’t a short person, but I dwarf her by nearly a foot. I never cared for my height, but Natalie had said once it made her feel safe.</p><p>
  
</p><p>I started carrying my shoulders a little straighter after that.</p><p>“You made it! Whoa, your hair got longer, huh?”</p><p>I absently run a hand through my dark, slicked back hair. “Haven’t made the time to get it cut. Does it look bad?”</p><p>She tilts her head to the side, pivoting her chin deeper into my chest.</p><p>“No. I think it suits you. You should try pulling it back into a baby pony, though.”</p><p>“Duly noted.”</p><p>“And your beard makes you look scary.”</p><p>“The beard stays,” I say, rubbing my chin absently. Franklin had liked my beard...</p><p>“Fine, fine. I guess if people see you’re with me, they won’t be so scared.”</p><p>She squeezes me once more, burying her face into my chest, before hopping back, her round face wide with glee.</p><p>She hasn’t changed much, even though it's been a few years. Her blonde hair is cut in a slightly wild, overgrown pixie, a beanie pulled over top. She still wears that old blue hoodie I gave her in high school... An intricate pattern of scars stretches across the left side of her face. But you never notice it when she smiles. One thing, however, has changed.</p><p>“You got a nose piercing,” I muse, eyeing the little ring of silver at her septum.</p><p>“Cute, right? Elliott says it makes me look edgy.” She fiddles with the looped ring in a very non-edgy way.</p><p>“Who’s… Elliott.”</p><p>“One of my engineering friends. You’ll meet him. Oh, Alex, I just can’t believe you’re here!”</p><p>“Honestly, Nat, I can’t believe I’m here either,” I sigh, drawing my gaze from my friend to the rather drab campus around us.</p><p>“Aww… You shouldn’t say it like that,” Natalie says, her face falling into a frown. “This is gonna be good for you! It’ll be like a-”</p><p>“Don’t say fresh start.”</p><p>“Oh don’t be such a half-empty glass person.” She punches my shoulder lightly.</p><p>“Your mastery of the English language is strong as ever, I see.”</p><p>“Of course it is! I’m college educated, mister. Now come on. I can give you a tour! And then you can meet my friends. OH.”</p><p>She pulls out her phone and starts navigating, then typing. A moment later my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out to find a notification from her.</p><p>“I added you to the group chat. You’ll meet everyone later, but I thought it might be fun to add you.”</p><p>A few more buzzes draw my attention back to my phone.</p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>[Wattson has added Alexander to the chat. Say hi!]</em><br/>
<em><strong>Wattson:</strong> Hey everybody! Hope you don’t mind if I add Alex! He’s my friend I told you all about.</em><br/>
<em><strong>Wraith:</strong> That’s fine, Nat. Welcome to campus, Alex.</em><br/>
<em><strong>Lifeline:</strong> Heya! We’re excited to have ya!</em><br/>
<em><strong>Mirage:</strong> Huhuhuhu cshtezut to jrrt tiy</em><br/>
<em><strong>Mirage:</strong> sry</em><br/>
<em><strong>Mirage:</strong> ah screw it they can wait</em><br/>
<em><strong>Mirage:</strong> tried to be subtle and respond with one hand while taking an order</em><br/>
<em><strong>Mirage:</strong> lets be honest theyre not tipping anyhow</em><br/>
<em><strong>Wraith:</strong> Stop texting El.</em><br/>
<em><strong>Mirage:</strong> anyhow HI welcome can’t wait to meet ya, shoot they’re yelling at me bye</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>I look up at Natalie in what I hope is the most “you can’t be serious” expression ever.</p><p>“Okay, well, Elliott is a bit much but he’s sweet. Now come on. Let’s get you acquainted with campus!”</p><p>Her hand intertwines into mine. Her hands are always so warm… And for just a moment, it reminds me of our childhood. Of home. No… not home. Home was never really home.</p><p>Natalie was always home.</p><p>But it reminds me of a different time, all the same. <em>Take care of Natalie, Alex,</em> my parents would say. <em>Make her feel welcome to the neighborhood,</em> they said. <em>Don’t let her fall behind you and your friends!</em></p><p>The thought still makes me laugh. Friends. I had never really had friends. Not until Natalie came along.</p><p>Two years older made me the big kid, and the little neighbor girl loved to tag along. I never really told my parents that I didn’t have other friends. It was just me and Nat since primary school.</p><p>“Alex?” Natalie looks back at me, a quizzical tilt to her head. She tugs at my arm. “You coming?”</p><p>Nearly 20 and she still acts like the kid I spent every waking hour with. I can’t help the smile as it creeps across stiff lips.</p><p>At least some things stay the same.</p><p>Maybe this would be just what I needed. Maybe this really would be a fresh start. Just me and Natalie, just like when they were kids. Just like when things were still good.</p><p>Something to clear away the haze, the illusion I’ve built up to hide who I truly am. A chance to be around the one person who accepts me without the obfuscation.</p><p>I squeeze her hand and let her tug me along.</p><p>Maybe I can finally hope for better.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Barista</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>  </b>
</p><p>
  <strong>Chapter Three</strong><br/>
<em>The Barista</em>
</p><p>After a very unimpressive tour (no judgment to Natalie; she didn’t exactly have much to work with in this campus), a brief search for my new dorm room (evidence of a roommate’s existence but no roommate present), and an unpacking of my few, meager belongings, Natalie launches herself onto my bed and slowly waits for herself to stop bouncing. She stretches her arms up behind her head and stares at the popcorn ceiling above.</p><p>I slowly lower myself onto the edge of the bed, leaning forward and unlocking my phone.</p><p>Two missed calls from his mom… She’d been calling a lot lately. It used to be updates on how her son was doing. The last time I’d answered, it had been an hour of her screaming at me, threatening to kill me for what I’d done to him…</p><p>Several more notifications in the group chat.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em><strong>Lifeline:</strong> Heads up, Natalie, B has to leave and Octavio’s running late. But Renee and I are here!</em><br/>
<em><strong>Gibraltar:</strong> Anita and I are wrapped up in student council stuff. We’ll be by later!</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>“So you think you’ll like it here?” Natalie asks softly. I glance back at her, stowing my phone. She’s propped herself up on her elbow, watching me with that look.</p><p>Ugh, that look. The one where her brows pull in and up, that right eye squinting ever so slightly, the right corner of her lip tweaked up and pressing a dimple into her cheek. The one where she could just see right through me, know what I was thinking. My permascowl could do nothing to hide from that look.</p><p>I reach back and pat her thigh roughly.</p><p>“Maybe so, Nat.” It was a lie. But it made her smile, and that was enough for now.</p><p>“Good! Come on! Time to meet my friends!” She starts to scramble up as I groan. Socializing with whatever rabble had been drawn to a girl so accepting and sweet sounded like an incredible pain.</p><p>“Maybe another time. I’m not sure I’m quite in the mood to-”</p><p>“Just… please? I know it isn’t your thing, but… they all really want to meet you.” She sucks in her lips, chewing them absently. This must be important to her…</p><p>“Fine, fine. I suppose it’s time to… meet your friends.”</p><p>The walk to the coffee shop is short, and soon Natalie leads us into what I would consider a hole-in-the-wall. It honestly feels more bar than coffee shop.</p><p>The room is small at first glance. A counter straight ahead has a glass case with pastries right by an ancient espresso machine. But while I thought it was just a small shop, I quickly realize it branches off into different sections. Much like an intimate, high-scale restaurant might.</p><p>Definitely not the open layout of most coffee shops. But I can appreciate the comfort of confined spaces, of fading into the shadows of a dimly lit corner. I hate to admit it but… it is rather perfect.</p><p>Clusters of eclectic, padded seats and sofas litter the rabbit warren of a shop. It’s cozy. In a chaotic sort of way.</p><p>Natalie bounces up to the counter before I really even have a chance to take it all in.</p><p>“Hey, Elliott! I thought you had the day off?”</p><p>“Well look what the cat dragged in! Natalie Paquette, how the heck ya doin’?”</p><p>I hate him from the moment I hear his voice. Chipper and awkward in a painfully charismatic sort of way. The kind of voice that disarms people.</p><p>I do not appreciate feeling disarmed.</p><p>Natalie leans over the counter and offers her cheek to a young man who is trying his very best to look charming. It isn’t working, in my opinion. And I can’t tell if he is trying to look dumb for the effect or if he truly doesn’t have an intelligent thought in his head.</p><p>But… the guy is cute enough. Defined shoulders, a strong nose, amber skin with a five’o’clock shadow that looks far too carefully manicured to be accidental. Thick, wavy hair pools atop an undercut. His black apron is tied low at his hips, obscuring a tight-fitting v-neck.</p><p>He leans towards Natalie and pecks her cheek with a loud smooch before pulling her beanie down over her eyes.</p><p>“Hey!” she huffs, backing off and setting it right, if a little crooked. The barista grins widely, showing a row of pristine, white teeth. He laughs, and unlike most everything else about him, it does seem sincere. Natalie’s attempt at an offended expression melts away as she giggles.</p><p>“You didn’t answer my question,” she reminds him, tapping the counter.</p><p>“My replacement never came. So I’m stuck with a double tonight.” He leans towards her raising his hand conspiratorially. “Rumor is they had a date and forgot to ask for the day off. I suspect supter- sumpter- subber- uh, foul play.”</p><p>His eyes drift up to me and he flashes that grin again. “Say Nattles, who’s your unit of a friend here?”</p><p>“Right! Alex, this is Elliott. He’s <em>Mirage</em> in the chat. Elliott, this is Alex!”</p><p>“Hold up, <em>this</em> is Alex? I figured he’d be some kind of tiny pasty nerdy white boy, the way you talked about him.”</p><p>I scowl towards Nat. “And just how did you talk about me?”</p><p>She waves a hand at me dismissively. “I just said you were really smart and we’ve been friends forever!”</p><p>“You didn’t mention he was so big. And, uh, you know.” Elliott waves his hands about in my general direction. “What am I trying to say here?”</p><p>Natalie glances back at me, giving me serious consideration. “Imposing?”</p><p>“Yeah, I was gonna say vaguely terrifying, so that works.”</p><p>“It’s the beard,” Natalie nods wisely.</p><p>“Plays a factor, for sure.”</p><p>“You realize that’s rather rude?” I growl, arms crossing over my chest in what I hope looks more menacing than self-conscious. Though the second was closer to the truth.</p><p>“Don’t get me wrong!” Elliott says. “I like a little fear. Gives a man a healthy glow, doncha think?” He shoots me finger guns.</p><p>
  
</p><p>I do not respond in kind.</p><p>After an awkward moment of the barista’s finger guns hanging in the air unreciprocated, Natalie reaches forward and carefully lowers them.</p><p>“Um… are the others here, Elliott?”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, they’re in the usual spot. You two want something to drink? I can bring it over.”</p><p>“Espresso for me!” Natalie chirps. Elliott whistles low and long.</p><p>“Long night ahead, huh?”</p><p>She holds up two fingers.</p><p>“Make that a double shot, Elly. I expect we’ve got a lot of catching up to do,” she responds, looking back at me and smiling. “Alex? You want anything?”</p><p>“Coffee. There’s no need for room.”</p><p>“Cute, cute, I like it. Black coffee’s a good look for a guy like you!” Elliott says, pulling a coffee mug and an espresso cup from the top of the espresso machine. “Go on back, you two. I’ll catch up in a sec.”</p><p>Natalie starts to paw around in her fanny pouch.</p><p>“My treat! Don’t worry about it. Gotta make your scary friend feel welcome, right?”</p><p>He winks at me and I can feel my shoulders tense as my brow furrows. What is this guy’s deal?</p><p>Elliott twiddles his fingers as Natalie thanks him and pulls me away, off to one of the warrens of the shop.</p><p>God. What an absolutely tedious man...</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Too Many Words</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey folks! Stuff is about to start going down, which means I’ve got some content warnings for ya!</p><p>CW: Consensual Forceful Physical Intimacy, Dominant Aggression, and maybe a case for Dubcon?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter Four</b><br/>
<em>Too Many Words</em>
</p><p>Natalie starts to weave me through minefields of sofas, intimate conversations, purse straps, first dates, last dates, and reunions. The amount of social interaction surrounding me is cloying and oppressive, noise expelled by eager lips before being gently cradled and pulled back into the soft embrace of pillows and carpets and drapes. It’s never quite as loud as I feel like it will be, but the humanity of it all is stifling.</p><p>I lag behind for just a moment before her fingertips reach for mine and keep me grounded, pulling me towards her and through a final threshold.</p><p>It had been a few years. Things had happened. She didn’t know how bad my social anxiety had gotten. How much worse it had gotten after Franklin…</p><p>But that is my burden to bear. I can do this for her. This one thing.</p><p>A burst of laughter hits my ears like an explosion, grating for its warmth. A small group of people lounge in a circle of sofas and armchairs, a large coffee table stretched in the middle.</p><p>“I swear ta God! Right in da middle of da lecture hall!”</p><p>The ring of people laugh with various amounts of enthusiasm. The girl who had been speaking smacks her leg with another bark of laughter. Her magenta hair is done up in space buns, her dark skin dusted with freckles. A latinx man, scrawny and punky, sits next to her in a wheelchair, cackling along loudly. Across from them a woman is sunken deep into a couch, legs splayed out, her dark hair pulled up into a messy bun. She’s smiling with soft amusement, but the way her leg is bobbing, the way her fingers tap methodically against her thigh, paints a different picture. Anxiety or impatience, however, I can’t quite ascertain.</p><p>Her eyes are the first to dart towards us, and as her gaze settles on Nat, her ticks immediately cease.</p><p>“You made it,” she says, her voice smooth, hushed. The other two take a beat to parse what’s happening, then follow her line of sight.</p><p>“EY! Watts!” the man in the wheelchair exclaims. “We thought for sure you got lost!”</p><p>I stand back as Natalie greets everyone, feeling extremely exposed even in so crowded a room. Natalie nestles herself next to the girl with the bun, accepting a sweet peck on the lips with a chaste blush.</p><p>And that’s when everyone turns to look at me.</p><p>I vaguely hear Natalie introduce me yet again, hear the enthusiastic greetings. But the girl with the bun… did Natalie say her name was Renee? She keeps staring at me with far more intensity than I appreciate.</p><p>She seems about as disconnected from the conversation around her as I am. I try not to hold her gaze but… it’s hard to keep my eyes away from hers.</p><p>“You should sit down, Alex. Here,” Natalie says, pulling me out of my thoughts. She pats the couch next to her. “Renee and I can squeeze in to make room.”</p><p>I don’t mind being next to Natalie, but… squeezed in… this room feels so small already. And loud. I look around anxiously. I can feel a tightness in my chest.</p><p>My feet draw me a step back. I’m not ready for this. It’s too much. Too soon. Another step back. I wanted to do something for her, but I can’t even do this one simple thing.</p><p>“Alex? You okay?”</p><p>Just like back then. There were so many people crowded around. So much noise, so many voices. I feel a sharp pain in fingers that no longer exist, hear the faint, rattling breath of Franklin in my ear.</p><p>“Alex?”</p><p>Another step back. I need to leave. Before… before the attack hits. I can’t let her see me like this. Can’t… can’t make this first impression for her friends. Too much has changed. I had hoped things would just go back to how they used to be. But too much has changed. She’s changed.</p><p>I’ve changed most of all.</p><p>I turn sharply without a word, back the way we’d come, charging through the threshold, desperate for a way out, or the solitude of a restroom or-</p><p>My body collides with someone. There’s a crash of shattering ceramic, a yelp, but all I can hear is breaking glass and an explosion in a lab. I push past whoever it is, long-legged strides pulling me towards the bathroom I’d seen near the entrance.</p><p>Every breath is a struggle as I rip the door open, grasping for the sink, fingers gripping its porcelain edge as I bend over it. I run the tap, splashing cold water onto my face, focusing on the sound of the stream as it runs down the drain.</p><p>The muscles in my arms quake as I grip the sink with every ounce of strength I can muster, just trying to stay calm, just trying to stay standing. I squeeze my eyes shut, head hung low over the sink.</p><p>
  <em>Breathe, Alexander. Breathe. You’re not there. It’s not the same. Just breathe.</em>
</p><p>I can feel the tightness easing from my chest, feel the images of that night washing away with the sink water. I open my eyes after a quivering breath, stare at the movement of the water.</p><p>It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m-</p><p>The door of the bathroom swings open with a sudden stream of mindless chatter from an obnoxiously familiar voice.</p><p>“-wonder if they’ll let me go home if I say I have third degree burns? Wait, no, first? Which is worse? Maybe I could just say <em>bad.</em> Yeah, that sounds- Oh. Hey.”</p><p>
  
</p><p>I look up to the mirror, still hulking over the sink, to see the barista from earlier standing behind me. He’s got a damp towel draped over one of his forearms, and I can see evidence of splattered coffee on his shirt.</p><p>He must have been the one I ran into.</p><p>“You eat something funny? You sure took off in a hurry. By the time Natalie got to her feet you were just-” he makes a bursting sign with his hands, accompanied by a puff of air. “<em>Poof.</em> Gone. And I thought I had skills for a fast exit.”</p><p>I bend back down over the sink, trying to focus on the water, try to drown out the noise of him.</p><p>“I’d rather be left alone, if you don’t mind.”</p><p>“Oh, trust me, I get it,” he continues as if I’d said nothing, stepping around me and sidling up to the other sink between me and the wall. He runs the tap on cold then slides the towel off revealing a red splotch along its paler underside. He puts his arm under the water’s flow with a grimace. “That crew can be a looooot to deal with. Once you get Octavio going, he’ll never shut up.”</p><p>I can feel a growl roiling in my throat. For Natalie’s sake, I try to keep it down. This is her friend. I need to make a… well, a good impression is a long shot at this point.</p><p>Perhaps escaping from this encounter without laying him out would be a more attainable goal.</p><p>“And when Renee looks at you just wrong? Or… or maybe just right… <em>Hoo boy</em>, shivers. Like she’s lookin’ at you in your skivvies and she’s not all that impressed. You know? She give you that look?”</p><p>
  <em>Dear Christ, just stop talking.</em>
</p><p>“And Ajay, girl’s got a cackle on her, but she’s a good egg. It’s kinda endearing, ya know?” He hesitates, and for the briefest, brightest moment I think he’s finally run out of things to say. I am not so fortunate. “Hey, don’t tell her I said that, right? About the cackling? I’m pretty sure she could take me and I don’t exactly wanna test that theory.”</p><p>He nudges my arm with his shoulder. “Promise?”</p><p>“Don’t. Touch me.”</p><p>“I’m gonna need a solid copy on that one, boss. Can’t risk what Ajay would do to me if-”</p><p>“Dear. Fucking. God,” I growl, throwing the tap off and turning towards the barista, towering over him. He straightens up, still barely coming past my shoulder, and looks up at me with wide, blinking, absolutely unintelligent eyes.</p><p>“You’re taller than I realized,” he says, for a moment cowed. The moment passes. “How tall <em>are</em> you, exactly? Gibby’s like seven foot or something. Naw, that’s probably wrong, maybe like six five? You gotta be close if you’re not-”</p><p>There is some small part of me, in the back of my mind, the part that remains detached and cold and analytical, that wonders how this man can possibly say so much and be so incredibly oblivious to his surroundings. People who can’t read the room should definitely not be allowed to talk so much.</p><p>That part of my brain finds this all very interesting, wondering how long it would take of his prattling without encouragement for him to get the hint.</p><p>Unfortunately for Elliott Witt, that part of my brain is not the part in control right now.</p><p>I barely have to press against his chest to send him sprawling back against the wall, his eyes widening in shock. I take a step towards him, slam my fist against the tiled wall beside his head, and grab the front of his apron with my other hand. I tug him up towards my snarling face.</p><p>
  
</p><p>His expression stiffens from shock into fear as he cowers back.</p><p>“Shut. The Fuck. Up,” I hiss. That does it, apparently. His mouth snaps shut as he tries to melt back against the tile, the ties of his apron straining against my grip.</p><p>My heart is racing, anger coursing through my veins. My fists tighten in an attempt to stop my arms from shaking. His caramel eyes, wide and unblinking, are fixed on mine. Darting back and forth between mine, searching for… something. Maybe just searching for an opportunity to pull away from me.</p><p>His mouth opens ever so slightly, as if to say something, but he thinks better of it.</p><p>“You realize how utterly obnoxious you are, don’t you?” I growl, shaking him. “And a barista should know better than to run cold water on a fresh burn, you absolute idiot.” I push him back against the wall, releasing my hold on his apron, but not moving away.</p><p>His expression falters, eyebrows morphing into a quizzical gaze. “Yeah? Not cold water, huh? I just figured it would cool things off, feel better. If not that then what-”</p><p>“I told you, you absolutely useless waste of a man,” I hiss, my face in his as he shrinks back. “To stop talking.”</p><p>He does. And his eyes dart quickly down my face, then back to my gaze. He swallows, his eyes dart down again, and this time linger for just a moment on my snarling lips.</p><p>I start to become very aware of the warmth radiating from him, that bitter smell of roasted coffee and something more calming, comforting… cinnamon? I find my own gaze drifting down his face, settling on lips slightly parted. Not to speak, no… its softer. Less deliberate. Small breaths escaping in measured rhythm.</p><p>I blink fiercely, trying to rid myself of the image. Even as he leans ever so slightly towards me.</p><p>Cocky little bastard. Thinking I would ever want to… and with someone like him… Someone who has likely never tasted an intelligent phrase on those full, parted lips of his.</p><p>The breath of a moment lasts an eternity. And then something breaks. Something deep inside of me. Something hungry, selfish. It sees the way he leans in ever so slightly, and takes the opportunity it provides.</p><p>
  
</p><p>I press my lips against his with a ferocity that I hadn’t unleashed in more time than I could account for. I don’t wait for his to part more before pressing my tongue into his mouth, hungry to taste him, to show him what true intelligence and talent feels like.</p><p>His soft moan is muffled, pressing inside of me, tentative fingers reaching towards my chest, gripping my shirt, responding to my kiss with the thirst of a man parched. The kiss lingers, fades, we part, pulling in breath. He starts to say something, but nothing in me wants to hear that voice. I pull him back into me, his words swallowed as our lips fit deeply into one another.</p><p>I suck his lower lip into my mouth, biting it, dragging it back with a slow, forceful tug. A warm breath washes over my face as he moans, his body sinking slowly down. I kiss him again, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and tugging him upright.</p><p>He’s so much less forward pressed up against a wall, so much less intense. So malleable.</p><p>It suits him much better. A much better use of his mouth than mindless prattling. My mind briefly flashes to an even better use of that mouth, a better lesson to keep him from his incessant chatter.</p><p>I can feel myself harden at the thought, pressing against restrictive jeans. It has been a long time. Franklin and I hadn’t been intimate for months before the incident, too wrapped up in our work, our experiments… too close to solving the riddles laid out before us to waste time on so base an instinct.</p><p>But this was my fresh start. What I had with Franklin was real, was intense, if erratic.</p><p>This is nothing. This man is nothing. Just a body with a mouth that is better without its ability to form words.</p><p>My hand drifts to his shoulder, pulling away from the kiss, a small gasp of disappointment escaping his lips. My fingers grip his shoulder tightly, maybe even painfully.</p><p>He opens his mouth to say something, but the words catch in his throat as I push down with rough force on his shoulder, buckling already weak knees.</p><p>His knees hit the tile floor with a sharp <em>thud</em>, and his quivering eyes easily drift to their intended target, inches from my arousal pressing towards him against my jeans. I can hear him swallow thickly, even as hands move unasked to unfasten my pants.</p><p>Look at that. He isn’t entirely useless after all.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Just a Mouth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Smut! Explicitly smut! And content warnings!</p>
<p>CW: Rough oral, dominant aggression, mild dubcon?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Chapter Five</b><br/>
<em>Just a Mouth</em>
</p>
<p>The barista unbuckles my belt with quaking fingers. He unfastens my pants, parting the zipper to frame my erection, straining against its final layer of cloth restraint. His fingers tuck under the waistband, pulling gently, savouring the slow reveal. Far too slow a reveal.</p>
<p>I shift my jeans down slightly, pushing his hands away, my cock rising towards him, anxious for the feel of his lips to slide along its length.</p>
<p>His caramel eyes shift from my length up to my face and back again.</p>
<p>I can feel the flood of words threatening to flow, like a dam breaking. For the briefest moment I’m tempted to just press my entire length down that throat to avoid the situation entirely, but… this is Natalie’s friend. I should… try.</p>
<p>“Is there something wrong?” I ask, shifting away from him.</p>
<p>“No, definitely not, this is… well, I mean its pretty public, you didn’t even try for a stall or anything, and anyone could just-”</p>
<p>“Get to the point.”</p>
<p>“Right, right, absolutely. You like to keep things succ- suss- um, brief, and trust me, I can respect that, I’m a bit like that myself.”</p>
<p>I shoot him my most glowering expression and sigh, pulling my pants back up over a slowly fading erection and zipping them with irritation.</p>
<p>“No, that’s, uh, that’s not what I meant!” He stammers, eyes fixed on the bulge in my jeans like a child trying to resist a cookie he was told he couldn’t have.</p>
<p>“It’s not that I wanted to stop, I mean, look at you. Look at that thing. Holy cow, right? I think its enough to fill even a big mouth like mine.” He laughs weakly, absently wiping the corner of his lips with his thumb. “It’s just… I wanted to make sure you’re… okay?”</p>
<p>“What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“I mean, I hardly know you at all, so it’s all just a gut feeling but you seem like you’re not entirely-”</p>
<p>“For someone on his knees in a public bathroom, you waste a lot of time talking.”</p>
<p>“Right, right. I just wanted to make sure this was something you wanted to do. You just seemed… not all you.”</p>
<p>“You don’t know me.”</p>
<p>“Right, yeah, I don’t, it’s just… I mean, Natalie talked so much about you that I kinda feel like I have an okay grasp on your whole thing, and I-”</p>
<p>My mind shifts away from whatever else he’s saying. Great. What had Natalie been telling her new friends about me? Every hurtful and hateful thing I can think about myself parades across my mind, but any of them seem ridiculous to hear coming from Natalie…</p>
<p>“I just didn’t wanna take advantage, you know?” he finishes.</p>
<p>I look down at him. He’s not exactly a small man but he looks so miniscule kneeling at my feet, looking up at me and trying to ignore my crotch.</p>
<p>He didn’t want to take advantage… of me? I thought I was the one pushing <em>him</em>. The acknowledgement of needs is… more comforting than I thought it would be.</p>
<p>Not that I could let him know that.</p>
<p>“Are you done?”</p>
<p>“Um… I guess so?”</p>
<p>“Good.”</p>
<p>I unzip my pants and before he has much time to process what I’m doing, I take my cock in one hand and reach down to grasp his face in my other. I squeeze slightly at his cheeks, parting lips and inching his jaw open before pressing myself into him.</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>Not too deep, not enough for him to gag. Just enough to fill him. His lips spread over my width, his tongue pressing up against my shaft.</p>
<p>“I don’t need your concern,” I growl. “But thank you for reminding me how irritating your voice is. It makes stopping it that much more pleasant.”</p>
<p>I release his jaw and wind my fingers up into his mess of curls, gripping firmly, tugging just enough to make him exhale sharply.</p>
<p>I slowly usher him back and forth along my cock, pressing my hips into him a little further each time. His cheeks hollow as he sucks gently, pressing his tongue firmly against the bottom of my shaft. I try to restrain myself, keeping the pace steady, slow. I want to push him up against the wall and face fuck him thoroughly, but never let it be said that Alexander Nox cannot show restraint.</p>
<p>For a spell, at very least.</p>
<p>His hands rise, fingers grasping the base of my cock, testing the feel of my skin. I push myself deep into his throat and he gags, his hands falling away and balling into tight fists to fight the gag reflex.</p>
<p>“I’m not interested in being touched,” I say, holding him there, mouth flush with my pelvis, the tip of my cock pressing against the back of his throat. “Understand?”</p>
<p>His throat vibrates around me in assent and I pull out, leaving him gasping. Giving him a moment. I’m not a monster, after all. He coughs, sucks in a breath, and I decide that’s sufficient before tightening my grip on his hair and pulling him back over me.</p>
<p>I pump my hips into him, pulling him along my length, and he gradually stops trying to give me a blow job, and finally concedes to being what I want of him. A sleeve.</p>
<p>I can feel it rising inside of me as I look down at him, eyes nearly devoid of an intelligent thought as he shifts into a lovely subspace. Seeing him like that sends a jolt of pleasure though me.</p>
<p>I feel that rush of warm sensation, mounting in my chest, muscles tensing. Chest tightening. No… seizing. Air stopping, breath caught in lungs that refuse to reinflate. I‘m quaking, gasping, a fish out of water, stumbling back. I distantly hear him say something, concern cracking his voice. I back into the sink, shift, stagger, fall.</p>
<p>There’s fire and shattering glass and blood and Franklin barely breathing and everything falling apart all around me.</p>
<p>And then there's a voice.</p>
<p>“Hey! Hey, are you okay? Should I get help?”</p>
<p>A hand on my face, soft and warm. So soft. Franklin’s hands were never quite so soft, always dry and rough. This touch is so different. So comforting. Another hand on my chest, a thumb stroking my cheek.</p>
<p>“Alex? That’s your name, right? Alex?”</p>
<p>My vision clears, the smoke clears, and the barista is leaning over me. His face is taut with worry, his curls disheveled from my rough grip just moments ago. As my breath returns, coaxed into lungs testing out their desire to draw in air, I feel a hot shame flash over my face.</p>
<p>What happened? And what the fuck was I even doing?</p>
<p>What the fuck had I been thinking? This was Natalie’s friend. And I practically forced myself on him in the middle of a public restroom, then had a panic attack just as I was about to climax.</p>
<p>“Hey, just breathe, okay? You’re fine. I mean I assume you’re fine. I hope you’re fine? You’re fine, right?”</p>
<p>I gather my breath, find my words, and rumble, “I’m fine. Get off.”</p>
<p>I lean up and he scrambles back. I vaguely note that he already made me decent. How long had I been on the floor? It had only seemed like seconds.</p>
<p>“How long?” I ask. He seems to understand my meaning immediately.</p>
<p>“I dunno, like, under a minute? You were… eh, its fine, it doesn’t matter. You just seemed like you were going through something. You sure you're okay?”</p>
<p>“Fine,” I groan, and get to my feet. I fortunately didn’t seem to hit my head when I fell, but my tailbone feels sore.</p>
<p>“Do you… need anything? Want me to get Natalie, or-”</p>
<p>“No. Christ, no.” What would Natalie even think? She wouldn’t judge, no, she wasn’t the judging type. But she’d be concerned.</p>
<p>I don’t want to burden her with any more of my concerns.</p>
<p>“Your name is Elliott, right?”</p>
<p>“What? Oh, yeah, it is.” He grips the little plastic name badge and wiggles it.</p>
<p>“I suggest we just forget this ever happened, alright, Elliott?”</p>
<p>“Oh. Like, the whole panic part or, like,” he gestures between the two of us. “This. You know, the kissing and the-”</p>
<p>I turn back towards the sink, trying to decide if my stomach felt like retching or if that was just the realization that he was about to start talking in earnest again.</p>
<p>“All of it. Just… just forget all of it. Because somehow, the most unimpeachable person I've ever known seems to think you’re worth her time, and that means for as long as I’m stuck at this ridiculous school I’m going to have to be seeing a lot of you.”</p>
<p>“Ha, you, uh, you make that sound like a bad thing.”</p>
<p>I heave a sigh, turning towards him and pulling myself up to my full height.</p>
<p>“The seeing isn’t as galling as the hearing, to be quite honest.”</p>
<p>I expect that to embarrass him or set him back but he just laughs nervously. “Ha, yeah, you know, my mom says that, too." He hesitates, waving a dismissive hand. "Yeah, that’s not true. My mom’s an angel and she loves me, she would never say-”</p>
<p>I tried, I really did. I tried to keep a hold of my anger, but…<br/>
Well… I just want it to be known that I tried.</p>
<p>My hand claps over his mouth, squeezing tightly, and for a moment he <em>is still trying to talk,</em> words muffled before they slowly die. He blinks uncertainly at me.</p>
<p>“Are you quite finished?” I ask. He gives me a thumbs up. As he does, I catch sight of the angry red splotch on his arm. That was my fault. Running into him, spilling coffee he was bringing for me.</p>
<p>I pull my hand away from his mouth, grab his wrist, and tug him to the sink.</p>
<p>“Look, I know I can be annoying sometimes, but I’d rather you not drown me. I’m not quite into that,” he says, trying to chuckle nervously. I can’t quite tell whether he is serious or trying to give me ideas.</p>
<p>“I’m not going to drown you, you idiot,” I rumble, turning on the tap and testing its heat. It’s warm, a little on the side of lukewarm. I grip his elbow with my other hand and pull his burn under the running water.</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>“You need to slowly cool it. You start with warm water and gradually adjust it to cool.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Huh. You’re really smart,” Elliott says.</p>
<p>“I know.”</p>
<p>I feel his eyes on me as I hold his arm under the water, my grip loosening but not releasing. He’s watching me, parsing what seems to be an uncharacteristically tender moment for me as I slowly adjust the tap.</p>
<p>It isn’t, really. Uncharacteristic. But people think of me how they will, and … well, maybe they’re generally right.</p>
<p>I don’t let the haze of a brusque persona settle and fade. Not often. It’s easier this way, easier than letting people get close. There are things inside of me I’m afraid of. Impulses. Desires.</p>
<p>So perhaps I let people think I’m a different kind of monster so they’ll never find out just how awful I am.</p>
<p>“Natalie said you were nice, you know. She told us all to just give you a chance. Everybody heard what happened at your old school. So… we just figured it was our little Nat being Nat.”</p>
<p>“What’s that supposed to mean?” I didn’t need to ask. I understood completely.</p>
<p>Natalie had always drawn the love of the fringe. Those who never fit, whether by nature or by choice. People found her, and they took comfort in her, and she welcomed them all the same.</p>
<p>I suppose I was always just one of those unloved outliers clinging to the kindness of a girl too good for this world.</p>
<p>“I think you probably know what it means. But she’s right, ya know. Trust me. I know enough about a ruse to know you’re pulling one on everyone with that asshole vibe.”</p>
<p>“If you say so.”</p>
<p>We fall into silence. I didn’t think it was possible. Just the sound of the trickling water running over amber skin, two slowing heartbeats, two sets of carefully controlled breaths.</p>
<p>Suddenly, there’s a light tapping on the door.</p>
<p>“Alex?” A soft, sweet voice, tentative. “Alex, are you in there?”</p>
<p>I release Elliott’s arm, flushing at the realization that I had no need to still be holding it.</p>
<p>“Just… keep it under there for a few more minutes,” I say gently, quietly.</p>
<p>“Uh, I should probably get back to work. I’ve been gone a bit and-”</p>
<p>“A few more minutes. The uncaffeinated cattle waiting for your clever wit and verbose reparte are less important than taking care of yourself.”</p>
<p>I turn away from him without a second glance, striding for the door. I pull it open, Natalie standing with arm raised, ready to knock again.</p>
<p>Her face is paler than usual, further highlighting the red scarring, brows furrowed in concern.</p>
<p>“Alex! There you are! I tried to text you but-”</p>
<p>“I'm sorry.”</p>
<p>“No, it’s fine! Are you okay? I was so worried, you just ran.”</p>
<p>“I’m fine. I think I just need to get some rest.”</p>
<p>She sets a soft hand on my chest, barely touching. “Right, of course. Come on, we can head back.”</p>
<p>As we turn to leave, I glance back into the bathroom. Elliott’s still bent over the sink, but his eyes are fixed on me. When our eyes meet he smiles faintly, wiggles his fingers at me in an attempt at light-heartedness, and mouths, “Bye.”</p>
<p>I just nod and turn to follow Natalie back to campus.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks to everyone who has read and commented so far! I appreciate you attention to my first foray into fanfic. ^_^</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Firsts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>We’ve got a perspective shiiiiiiiift.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>Chapter Six</strong><br/>
<em>Firsts</em>
</p><p>He looked back. That’s generally a good sign, right? Yeah, in all those rom coms, looking back is generally definitely a good sign. Or maybe it was one of those “wait, <em>that</em> was the person I decided to put my dick into? seriously? yikes” kind of looks. That’s a look, right?</p><p>I hope it wasn’t that kind of look...</p><p>I groan, turning back to stare into the sink, nudging the water control things to just a bit cooler. Just like he told me to.</p><p>What even was all that. I thought the guy just super despised me from that crummy first impression I made. And I’d been trying, too. Trying to be nice and casual and welcoming and not at all thinking about everything everyone was saying about him on campus.</p><p>I mean, Humbert U wasn’t exactly close, but word travels, especially when the word is “psycho chemist tries to kill his boyfriend in a fit of jealous rage and slices off his own fingers to prove his love,” closely followed by “also he’s coming to your school” and “also also he’s your friend’s best friend so he’s just gonna be around I guess probably.”</p><p>But I know my certain style of charisma isn’t for everyone, or many, maybe. Mom says it makes me special, but I think she has to say that. She also says, “Sorry, Ell-bell, I wasn’t listening,” an awful lot, and that’s probably also a sign. And maybe not a good one.</p><p>Anyway. What was I saying? Right. Alex.</p><p>I’d really tried to be nice to him, but clearly I’d just made him mad. Can’t argue with the results, I guess, but maybe that wasn’t the healthiest thing we could have done…</p><p>Ugh.</p><p>And what if Nat found out…</p><p>I really, really don’t want Nat to find out…</p><p>I heave a sigh, turning off the water and dabbing my skin dry with a paper towel. It still stings but I’ll live.</p><p>And maybe have cool battle scars to show off to extremely easily impressed people.</p><p>I look in the mirror and realize my hair is an absolute mess. Yikes… I paw my fingers through it, scrunching it a bit to get it back into shape. My scalp is still a little sore but… like, in a good way. I like it. I liked everything.</p><p>Except for his panic attack part, that was bad. But the after bit was okay…</p><p>I groan, rubbing my face and realizing my jaw is also a little sore. It was a lot of… uh… girth to take in.</p><p>Not exactly how I saw my first time going down, but… no complaints.</p><p>God. I need to get out of this bathroom.</p><p>I give my hair another scrunch and shuffle to the door, tugging it open and heading back to my counter. A line of people five or six deep are somewhat less than patiently queuing, and an irritated looking manager seems to have just stepped in to deal with it.</p><p>Cool, cool, this shift is gonna be great, I can tell.</p><p>“Where the hell were you?” She hisses as I hurry to the espresso machine and start making the row of drinks she has lined up.</p><p>“Sorry! Must have eaten something weird. Could not stop-”</p><p>“I don’t wanna hear about your intestinal distress, Witt. Just… we’ll talk about it later.”</p><p>Oh goody.</p><p>Several hours and a verbal lashing from my manager later, I finally finish my close and shuffle out of the shop, pulling my coat tight around me. That winter chill is really hitting hard tonight.</p><p>I pull out my phone to see what I missed, because it had vibrated about a thousand times during my close.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote><p><strong>Gibraltar:</strong> Hey hey hey, who’s up for a raid tonight? Like 8? 9?<br/>
<strong>Octane:</strong> oo! me! me! gotta get as much in as we can before school starts!!!<br/>
<strong>Wraith:</strong> Fine. But I need help with a few quests first.<br/>
<strong>Bangalore:</strong> We’ve got an early morning with senate, Gibs. Can’t stay up late.<br/>
<strong>Gibraltar:</strong> Yeah, yeah, I hear ya, we’ll keep it short. Hey @Lifeline @Bloodhound @Wattson @Mirage you kids down?<br/>
<strong>Lifeline:</strong> (b^_^)b<br/>
<strong>Bloodhound:</strong> Yes.<br/>
<strong>Wattson:</strong> Oh, sorry! Alex and I are hanging out tonight! Have fun without us! :D<br/>
<strong>Octane:</strong> we getting him an account? or is he too cool? or not cool enough?!<br/>
<strong>Wraith:</strong> No one here qualifies for that last category. I am pretty sure this game is at the bottom rung on the coolness ladder.<br/>
<strong>Octane:</strong> rude you know technically that’s your gf you’re talking about<br/>
<strong>Wraith:</strong> I don’t date her for her coolness.<br/>
<strong>Wattson:</strong> I don’t know if he wants to start a character or not. I’ll ask him :)<br/>
<strong>Wattson:</strong> I date you for your coolness, Wraith, so you need to be cool enough for both of us :*</p>
<hr/><p><strong>Gibraltar:</strong> OK, raid time! Sent party invites!</p></blockquote><p>Hoo, a raid tonight? Man, I keep missing out on these with all these closing shifts. It’s already 10:30 but maybe they’re still going?</p><p> </p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong> Mirage:</strong> Hey guys! You still playing? I just got off work but I’m down once I get home!<br/>
<strong>Mirage:</strong> Oh. Hey. Gibby you still have my laptop, bud?</p>
</blockquote><p>No reply… I’m pretty sure I left my laptop at Makoa’s yesterday. Well isn’t that just peachy. My house is two miles in the opposite direction, but no laptop, no raid. Worst case I can just play a bit in his room.</p><p>I start the short trek back to campus, navigate to the dorms, and up to Makoa’s room. I can hear his booming voice from inside even as I knock on the door. Good, maybe they’re still playing! I knock loudly on the door, hoping the sound will carry.</p><p>“S’open!” He calls from inside. I try the handle, then push it open and step in.</p><p>Makoa’s room is always a mess. A good mess, but you just gotta watch where you step. And you definitely don’t wanna trip on his shoes, believe me. It’ll knock you flat.</p><p>But it’s comfy and lived in. Something that’ll welcome you without pretention. A lot like the guy, himself. Plus, he managed to get a room to himself at the start of the school year, which is probably for the best. He always has people coming in and out of his room to talk or hang or vent. Must be obnoxious in a roommate.</p><p>He’s hunched at his desk, a large headset crammed atop thick, wavy black hair pulled up in a bun. Guy’s huge and ripped, and the 3xl t-shirt he’s wearing might even be a little form-fitting on him.</p><p>Makoa turns around and shoots me a huge, toothy grin. “There he is! You left your computer here!”</p><p>“Yeah, I was kinda hoping I could grab it, maybe join you guys?”</p><p>He tugs off his headset, scooting his chair around.</p><p>“Sorry, brudda, we just logged off. Bangs shut us down. Laptop’s on the bed, though. I don’t know how you still run the game on that thing. It’s a relic.”</p><p>I sit heavily on his bed, drawing my legs up into crissy crossy positions and plopping my sticker-plastered laptop on my lap.</p><p>He isn’t wrong. I do need a new laptop. The game runs in the purely technical sense, but… A new computer’s just not in the cards right now.</p><p>“You alright there, Elliott?”</p><p>I look up, startled to find him watching me closely. Makoa can always tell. He’s a good best friend.</p><p>And just so we clear things up right now, I’m not exactly under any illusion that I’m <em>his</em> best friend. It can be a one lane road sometimes. That’s okay. I can deal with that. But Gibby’s friends with everyone, so who’s to say he even has a best friend.</p><p>I could be that probably.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, course,” I say, waving my hand dismissively. But I guess I am still sitting uninvited on his bed, not leaving once I’d regained my property, so… Maybe I’m not as okay as I figured. “Maybe.”</p><p>Makoa leans back in his chair, thick arms crossing over a barrel chest. “Okay, something’s up. What’s wrong? It don’t got anything to do with that Nox guy, does it? Nat’s friend?”</p><p>“Ha ha! What makes you think that! Weird place to go just out of nowhere. I mean its not like I know him or hardly even got a chance to talk.” Geez, Alex was right. I really don’t know how to shut up.</p><p>“Uh huh. Both of you just holed up in that bathroom for a bit, that’s all. Nat said you were both in there when she found him. Said he didn’t look so hot.”</p><p>“She, uh, she said all that, huh? You know, for someone who only managed to hang out with us like all of five minutes today she sure seems to have said a lot,” I blather nervously.</p><p>“She texted me later about it. Something happen? You and that guy get into it or something?” Makoa asks, cocking his head to the side.</p><p>I can’t keep his gaze as I shrug, rubbing the back of my neck. “Eeeehhhh something like that. It’s not really anything, though. We just, uh-“</p><p>I stop. <em>Okay, Elliott, you really gotta keep your yap shut. What if Alex didn’t want people to know? Heck, YOU don’t want people to know. Why don’t you want people to know? It’s not like you did anything wrong. It was just a bit of-</em></p><p>“Ell? You good?”</p><p>I groan, throwing myself back onto the bed, my laptop sliding balefully off my lap onto the mattress.</p><p>“I dunno, Gibs. Everything just feels kinda twisty inside. You know, twisty. Like pasta or a slinky that’s been all… uh… twisted.”</p><p>“Your way with words never fails ya, brudda. So why don’t ya tell me what happened, huh?”</p><p>I heave a sigh, staring at popcorn ceiling. There’s stars up there, those glow-in-the-dark ones you put in kids’ rooms. Natalie and Renee broke into his room at the beginning of the year and put them up there after Makoa had mentioned missing seeing the stars. They kept falling off because, well, popcorn ceiling. So Octavio went and got them some caulking.</p><p>Those stars will never fall.</p><p>“I think he kinda hates me.”</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>“Alex. Natalie’s friend. Don’t think I really made a good first impression. Think he’s got a problem with my voice.” He did say numerous times my mouth was better if it was full of… well. You know.</p><p>“He’s a bit of a character, I hear. Didn’t meet him, myself. He and Nat were gone by the time Anita and I showed up. Don’t think he liked anybody, though. I wouldn’t take it too personally.”</p><p>“I mean, he didn’t really get the chance to talk to everyone else. Not really.”</p><p>“Whatcha mean?”</p><p><em>What I mean is he ran off and then I blew him</em>, I think. Except I don’t think I just think it. Because Makoa throws a ball cap at me and scoots his chair closer.</p><p>“You did <em>what</em>?”</p><p>Oh. Well effin’ shoot. Here’s the thing about talking a lot, and also here’s the thing about being kinda alone a lot. Ya kinda get used to talking to yourself a lot. The line between “thinking” and “saying” becomes a little more wiggly and a whole lot less solid.</p><p>I sit up, a grimace plastering my face. “I… said that out loud. Didn’t I.”</p><p>“Wait, is that what you two were doing in the bathroom? Oh, damn, boy!”</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Oh geez,” I start, running my hand back through my hair and wishing my mouth wasn’t quite as big as it was. “Look, I mean, <em>blew him</em> might be a little bit exaggerated. I’m pretty sure that’s not what happened. Come to think of it, I really didn’t do much of anything. So you probably can’t count it like that.”</p><p>“Wait, wait, wait. Back up. What happened?”</p><p>I heave a giant, steadying breath, then launch into a very truncated version of events. Which probably means I give him way more information than I need to and probably talk a little bit too much about the way he smelled like earth and Old Spice and witch hazel. Makoa just stares at me while I talk, and as his brows slowly furrow deeper and deeper downwards, I find that I keep spewing more word vomit and digging myself in an even bigger pit.</p><p>I wonder how low his eyebrows can go. Maybe they’ll just fall right off his face if I keep talking about this any more.</p><p>I reach the end of the story and, mercifully, can think of nothing else to say.<br/>
So, of course I keep talking.</p><p>“So, yeah, it was all probably my fault, which is okay, because that means I can learn from it all. Three words, ‘You live and learn,’ yeah, that’s what I always say. But the point is I think he kinda hates me and just wanted me to stop talking, so none of that probably really matters anyhow, right? Like, he probably doesn’t-”</p><p>“Okay, El, I think you can stop now.”</p><p>“Thank god.”</p><p>“I’m gonna get serious for just a sec, okay? You alright with that?”</p><p>Not really... “Yeah, sure, of course.”</p><p>Makoa leans forward, elbows resting on knees, hands dangling between. Classic dad pose. I mean, I assume. I don’t have one.</p><p>“That was all… consensual, yeah?”</p><p>Oh. I think back. I mean, yeah, it was. I didn’t necessarily have any idea what was going on, but I liked it. And I didn’t want it to stop.</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Okay. Because its kinda… you know. Kinda a lot for a first time. That was your first, right? You haven’t been getting action on the side and not tellin’ your bud Makoa about it, huh?” His words are light. He tries to make the tone light, too, but there’s something in that rumble of his deep voice that tells me he’s concerned.</p><p>I try to put on a happy whatever face, a no problem face. A <em>I’m sure getting face-fucked by a near stranger in a public restroom is a completely normal first sexual experience, right</em>? kinda face.</p><p>“Yeah, no, that was the first. Woo! Look at me, getting all grown up and stuff.” I laugh. I don’t mean for it to sound stiff but it does. Shoot… I’m really digging a hole here.</p><p>And the tricky thing is I’m being sincere. I did have a good time. Kind of an atypical first but… I dunno. I liked it. I don’t have a problem with how things went down. But the thing about putting on a happy face all the time and making jokes and maybe hiding a lot of less happy things is that when you’re being really, truly sincere it comes off as a little flat. Just blends into the facade that your friends know isn’t always the truth.</p><p>When all people see is a reflection of you, it all looks a little flat.</p><p>“Elliott, I don’t know about this guy…”</p><p>“It’s fine! I’m fine. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything? I don’t want you to worry.”</p><p>“You should at least tell him.”</p><p>I feel my jaw drop and very deliberately try to get it back into place. “Tell him <em>what</em>? That I’m a 20-year-old virgin whose first experience was a meaningless way for him to blow off steam? Yeah, no, I don’t think that’s a great idea, Gibs. It didn’t mean anything to him, probably. He’s probably forgotten all about it. It’s nothing.”</p><p>“But it meant something to you, yeah? That’s something that’s a part of your story. It’s not nothing.” Makoa heaves a sigh, throwing up his hands. “He should know. That’s all I’m sayin’.”</p><p>“Look, I’m just gonna head home. Mom’s probably waiting up for me and I don’t want to keep her up.” I slide off the bed, grabbing my laptop.</p><p>“Ell-”</p><p>“See ya, Gibs! Hopefully I can catch the raid next time! Bye!”</p><p>I’m out the door before he can say anything, rubbing my face with a groan and hoping he doesn’t mention this to anyone else...</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Mirage comes off as such an awkward flirt in the game, I just really love the idea that he has ZERO EXPERIENCE with any of it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. A Pretty Thing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter Seven</b><br/>
<em>A Pretty Thing</em>
</p><p>My house is a few miles from campus. Normally I’d just take the bus, but I missed the last one already. It’s fine. I like walking. In the dark. Through mostly fine parts of the city.</p><p>I decide to take the shortcut through the park over by the river. It avoids the rougher part of downtown, though leaves you open to seeing the occasional Grindr meetup, and maybe a mugging or two.</p><p>I’ve only been mugged there like, three times, tops, on my way home. Jokes on them, though, because all I’ve got is a dumpy old computer and about $7 from tonight’s tips.</p><p>But the park is nice aside from all that. It’s mostly well-lit, and the smell of the trees and the grass is a nice change of pace. Always a little cooler, too.</p><p>Of course, it is the middle of winter, so… “cool” isn’t exactly needed. And the leaves have all jumped ship so it's more like walking through a stick field. Still. Nature. Good for the soul.</p><p>“Elliott?”</p><p>I jump, spinning around to try to figure out where it came from. On my second full rotation I see a big, hulking figure on a bench just past the light of the path. My first instinct is Makoa, but that wouldn’t make any sense. I just left his place.</p><p>“Who...” I squint into the darkness and the shapes start to clarify. Oh.</p><p>It’s Alex. He’s draped in a heavy woolen pea coat, but despite the cold it isn’t fastened shut.</p><p>“You’re going to get yourself mugged, parading a computer around a shifty park like this,” he says, his voice that deep growl that tells me exactly what he thinks of me. Didn’t think that would work so well for me, to be honest.</p><p>“Oh, yeah, well, just looking for a little excitement, ya know? Draw all the baddies to me so I can-” I make two jabs with my free hand. “-<em>Pow, Pow.</em> Knock ‘em right out.”</p><p>“You’re an idiot.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“Why are you out this late.” It isn’t really a question. It’s an accusation.</p><p>I glance further down the park path. “Just got off work. Missed the bus. I don’t live too far.” I look back at him. He looks… sad. Not for me. Just… in general.</p><p>I should get home. I know I should get home. But… eh. Kinda seems like he needs a friend right now.</p><p>I step off the path over to him, helping myself to the far end of the bench. He watches with mild interest, masking surprise. I set my laptop between us. He doesn’t give it a second glance, just… watches me. Like he’s analyzing me. Kinda creepy.</p><p>“What are you up to out here? Figured you’d be hanging out with Nat all night,” I say, trying to lean back in a casual way, cross my arms over my chest like Makoa does. My casual slouch turns into a not-so-casual slip and I start to slide down off the bench before catching myself and just sitting like a normal-ish human.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“She fell asleep and Renee kicked me out.”</p><p>“Yeah, that tracks. Everyone kinda thinks you’re in love with her, so I can see Renee wanting you outta there,” I shrug. He narrows his eyes.</p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p>“I mean, aren’t you? The way she talks about you, we just all kinda assumed you’re the kind of childhood friend who always loved her but could never tell her and now maybe it's your chance to come clean and… no? Okay, yeah, based on that snarl I’m guessing no.” I really gotta learn to shut up around this guy.</p><p>He looks like he’s about to yell at me. Or hit me. Or who knows, maybe kiss me, I don’t know. But he takes a deep breath and settles back into his seat, staring ahead dolefully.</p><p>“It isn’t like that. She’s like my little sister.”</p><p>“I’ve read fanfics. Sometimes that makes it hotter.”</p><p>“I have no desire to become romantically involved with Natalie.”</p><p>We fall into a very uncomfortable silence. I don’t like silence. It feels heavy and suffocating. It feels like I’m being smothered, a pillow pressed against my face, and it’s all I can do to not just scream random words to make it all stop.</p><p>I glance over at him, wondering if he’s also drowning in the silence. He looks unconcerned, staring ahead at the faint outlines of skeletal trees. It’s hard to imagine this is the same guy from just a few hours ago. He seems so calm. So forlorn, in like a soft 70s folk kind of way.</p><p>I don’t see any of the anger and irritation from before, no longer a pot ready to boil over.</p><p>“I’m sorry about earlier,” he says softly, breaking the silence, his voice so much smoother than before.</p><p>“Uh… yeah? What, uh, what about?”</p><p>He glances over at me, a sardonic expression on his sharply angled brows.</p><p>“Okay. Yeah. Dumb question. No, it’s fine. Nothing to apologize for.”</p><p>“You aren’t irritating. Or… or a waste of a man.”</p><p>“Eh, I think I’m a little irritating, maybe,” I shrug with nonchalance. “Can’t blame you for trying to shut me up.”</p><p>He chuckles deep in his chest. I feel it more than hear it. Almost like a cat purring...</p><p>I think about what Makoa said. That I should tell him. Ugh, I hate that. I hate the idea of telling him that. I barely know this guy. I don’t wanna put that kinda pressure on him. It was nothing. It’s not a big deal. Even as I tell myself that I can feel my mouth opening of its own accord, ready to spill drama.</p><p>“How’s your arm,” he asks, gracefully saving me from myself.</p><p>“Oh, it’s good! Still a little sore but, I’m sure that’ll go away. Also that was my first time.”</p><p>Shoot. How did I even spill those words out?! He turns to look at me with furrowed brows.</p><p>“That makes sense. You clearly had no idea what you were doing.”</p><p>Okay, well, that’s a little hurtful. I can feel my chest just like… drop to the ground and keep on falling to the middle of the earth.</p><p>“Was it really that obvious? I mean, it kinda caught me off guard, you know? You can read articles and watch all the videos you want but I guess it won’t really prepare you for the real thing. I hope I didn’t, like… make it worse for you.”</p><p>“Make it… worse? Why would your insufficient knowledge of burn aftercare have any effect on me?”</p><p>My eyes widen, and I swear I blanch to another skin tone entirely. I quickly look away from him and try very hard not to say anything else. For once I succeed, but it seems like Alex can piece it all together without my incessant chatter.</p><p>“Christ…” he groans, sitting up and turning to me. I try not to look at him, but the brief glance I steal shows a very angry face. No… that’s not quite right. It’s like… all the parts of angry but they aren’t directed at me. Trust me, I know self-loathing when I see it.</p><p>“You’d never… nothing? Not at all?”</p><p>I shake my head without looking at him.</p><p>“I… I thought that you… Fuck. Why didn’t you stop me?” His voice gradually falls from panic to irritation to regret. It’s that last one that makes me turn to face him, desperate to make myself understood.</p><p>“I didn’t want you to stop,” I say earnestly, and resist adding more words to better make my point. I think with this guy more words just detracts from the sincerity.</p><p>He gives me this… look. It’s a whole bunch of things wrapped up in one. Like an emotion burrito. It’s apologetic and distrustful and hopeful and hungry and about a dozen other emotions that I’m not exactly savvy enough to catch.</p><p>“You deserve a better first. Something with at least a tinge of romance. I wish you’d told me.”</p><p>I shrug again, trying to look way more unconcerned about it all than maybe I was. “A lot of people have weird and awkward first times. And hey, at least it wasn’t bad or anything. You certainly know how to uh… you know…” my hand kinda waves in a circle, trying to fill the space while I find the words. “Use… it?”</p><p>Nailed it. Great choice of words, Witt.</p><p>“Christ.”</p><p>We fall back into silence and this time I think it’s gonna actually kill me. <em>Use it,</em> I said. <em>Use it.</em> Like some middle schooler who laughs at the word <em>penis</em> and draws butts on bathroom walls.</p><p>Okay, well, I still draw butts on bathroom walls, butts are funny, I stand by that.</p><p>“Come on,” Alex says gruffly, grabbing my arm and tugging me to my feet as he stands. “Get your computer. I’m walking you home.”</p><p>“What? There’s no need, it’s fine, I don’t want to-”</p><p>He grabs my laptop and shoves it into my chest.</p><p>“You shouldn’t be walking this late by yourself. Come on.”</p><p>I look up at him in shock. Geez this guy is tall.</p><p>“Well what about you? You’ll be walking back alone. I mean, what if something happens and someone mugs you on your way back? People get mugged in this park, apparently. Not me, of course. But people. What if you-”</p><p>He laughs at me, humorless and full of derision. I kinda like it. His expression softens as his laugh fades, looking down at me as silence falls around us.</p><p>This kind of silence… I don’t mind it so much. It isn’t just emptiness. It isn’t just awkward lack of words and not knowing what to say next. This silence is full. There’s a million things being said in the way he’s looking down at me, the way his eyes soften, the way his chest rises and falls heavily and steadily between us.</p><p>He reaches out, a huge hand gently gripping my jaw and angling it up, holding my face firm and steady. For a moment I think he’s going to kiss me, but he just… looks. Examines. Analyzes. This thumb runs slowly across my lower lip, pulling gently, parting, letting it fall back into place.</p><p>

</p>
<p>“It’s a pretty thing when it isn’t moving quite so much,” he says softly, deep and low, disinterest masking hunger.</p><p>He pats my cheek roughly, then slowly runs his hand back to the base of my neck. For the briefest moment I think he’s going to pull me into him, kiss me long and deep like he did earlier. And my eyes start to close in anticipation.</p><p>But suddenly he shifts, turning in the direction I had been walking earlier. Hand still on the back of my neck, he ushers me to walk by him. He just keeps his hand there, like he’s guiding me, or else a reminder that he could grab a hold in case I bolted. Not that I was going to.</p><p>I can’t tell if it is meant to be comforting or controlling. But either way it sends a shiver through my body, and I happily fall in step alongside him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Avoiding Silence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
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</p><p>
  <strong>Chapter Eight</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Avoiding Silence</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Well… this is it,” I say, lingering on the stoop of a run-down, two-story brick duplex squeezed between two slightly less run down <em>painted</em> brick duplexes.</p><p>I’m told the painted brick makes them modern and fancy. We don’t really talk to the people in them. They’re kind of dicks.</p><p>Ours has uneven steps from years of shifting and poor repair jobs, and a little porch with two chairs and about a thousand plants. Mom loves plants.</p><p>We’d made the walk in near silence, but for some reason it didn’t really bother me. Alex has a lot of presence, for better or worse, and I found if you just kind of see that as another way of talking then the silence isn’t so oppressive.</p><p>Alex, his hand still resting on my neck, looks up, taking in all of #305A’s glory. There isn’t much glory to take in, so he very quickly looks back down at me.</p><p>“You live here?”</p><p>“Uh, yup. 1200 square feet of home-baked goodness. Mom can’t use the stairs anymore so the top floor is pretty much my private apartment. It’s like I don’t even live with my mom at all. Not that I don’t like living with my mom. She’s perfect. I would never—”</p><p>Alex squeezes his hand gently, fingertips pressing into the sides of my neck. It sends a pleasant shudder down my spine and I immediately stop talking.</p><p>“I suppose I’ll leave you to it, then,” he says, sliding his hand off my neck and stepping back.</p><p>“Um, yeah. Thanks for the, uh, escort?”</p><p>He nods, and I turn towards the house, taking the steps up to the front porch two at a time. I fiddle with my key for a moment, then press the door open into a darkened entryway.</p><p>There’s a lamp on in the nook at the foot of the stairs down the hall, the one mom leaves on for me so I don’t trip and fall and break my neck on “those kinky little things.” She says kinky, I don’t. Thought about correcting her once but decided some things are too precious to fix.</p><p>She must have already gone to bed…</p><p>And suddenly the house feels so empty. And quiet. And cold…</p><p>As I stare down that hallway, I can just… <em>feel</em> the silence. Heavy and thick and clammy, pressing against me. My fingertips tap nervously against my thigh, just to hear something, to feel the vibrations.</p><p>I spin around before I even think about what I’m doing.</p><p>“Alex!” I call out. He’s already started walking back the way we’d come, but he stops mid stride and turns, his brow ticked up quizzically.</p><p>“D’you… wanna come in?” I ask, my heart pounding, chest heaving, as if I’d just run a mile. Well, let’s be honest. As if I’d run a couple dozen yards.</p><p>He turns to fully face me, his eyes hidden in shadows as a street lamp casts a halo around his form. A little disingenuous of the street lamp, honestly, all things considered. “Why would I do that.”</p><p>I think it’s probably time for brutal honesty. He’d respect that, right? Eh, brutal honestly probably means he’s having to listen to me talk more than he’d like, so maybe not. Oh well. Apparently I’m already diving in because I realize I’ve started talking.</p><p>“-like those horror movies where you open the door and there’s a long dark hallway and it just kinda stretches longer and longer, and the hero is just standing there and the hallway just looks so insur… ensurr… uh, impossible, and so they-”</p><p>“You need to stop,” Alex rumbles softly, but somehow I can even hear him from a dozen steps away. “I thought you lived with your mother. Talk to her.”</p><p>“She’s asleep. I… please,” I say, my breath pressing out of my lungs in one go. “I just… don’t super wanna be alone.”</p><p>The silence stretches out between us like the dark hallway to my back, but finally Alex starts walking back to me. He climbs the uneven brick steps without a word and steps up onto the porch.</p><p>“Fine. I’ll come in.”</p><p>I step aside to let him in, but he hesitates as he looks around the porch.</p><p>“Your plants are very healthy,” he muses thoughtfully before stepping past me into the darkened hallway. I look back at mom’s plants, give a soft thanks, then follow him in and close and lock the door behind me.</p><p>I lead him down the hall, then up the stairs, and finally to my room.</p><p>I realize pretty immediately, when ushering this near stranger into my bedroom, that this is very clearly a place I have grown up in. I’ve still got posters on the wall from middle school. A desk in the corner is full of heavily read comic books, video game cartridges, and half-finished gadgets I’d been putzing with last semester. A cork board is full of magazine clippings of actors I used to crush on, and a few random comic spreads on printer paper full of heavy erasing and splotchy ink work from a thing I had been making in junior high.</p><p>Now that I’m seeing them anew I’m realizing just how many tentacles there are per spread and I just hope Alex isn’t really paying that much attention.</p><p>Considering the way he is slowly surveying the entire room, I get the impression he is paying an inordinate amount of attention. Cool, cool, great.</p><p>“It’s kind of a work in progress since, oh, somewhere around the time my second brother enlisted and the rest of us could finally have our own rooms,” I say, hoping to draw his attention away before he notices the cheap dildo I absolutely forgot to put away.</p><p>“Uh, sorry about the mess, I wasn’t exactly… you know. Expecting company,” I say stiffly. I hurry to the bed and gather a bunch of clothes from the mattress and the slatted headboard (mom and I made it out of old palettes because we’re cool), then flop them on the chair. Then I realize he might wanna use the chair and take them off the chair and start to head back to the bed and…</p><p>Guh. I finally just drop them on the ground with a defeated look.</p><p>“You can just, uh, sit anywhere. Sorry.”</p><p>He shrugs out of his coat and drapes it on the back of the chair, then steps over to the bed and sits heavily at the head of it.</p><p>I follow suit, scrambling out of my parka (the zipper broke ages ago, so I always have to just, like, wriggle out of it), then I plop on the other end of the bed.</p><p>And the silence returns. Not as dark and oppressive as downstairs, but still thick and present and awkward and-</p><p>“You live here with your mother?” Alex asks, his attention on a framed family picture sitting on my bedside table. He reaches for it, eyes slowly scanning the figures. Mom, me, and my three older brothers.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Yeah, just the two of us. That pic was taken like, eight years ago. I was a huge doofus back then.”</p><p>He gently taps the glass three times, and I realize he’s tapping the chests of each of my brothers.</p><p>“Where are they.”</p><p>“Oh, uh… I’m… we don’t really know, I guess. Everybody says they’re… well, but mom and I are, uh…” I swallow, and swallowing seems kinda hard right now. Alex looks over at me, still holding that picture. I hadn’t seen my brothers in a long time. All three of them enlisted. All three of them went missing while on deployment. I… try not to think about it that much these days.</p><p>“It’s fine. I shouldn’t pry,” he says, setting the picture down with a lot more care than I would have thought he’d show people related to me. “Your calendar has the start date for school crossed out. Why?”</p><p>Oh boy. This guy doesn’t miss a thing, does he? Maybe this was a huge mistake. Kinda wishes he’d noticed the tentacles or the dildo instead.</p><p>“Ah, uh, you know. Change of plans and… stuff.”</p><p>“You aren’t enrolling this semester?”</p><p>I laugh nervously, rubbing the back of my neck and pulling my feet up onto the bed in my apparently now classic crissy crossy position. “Uh, noooo? I mean, I did, but… you know. Taking a break. It’s good to take a break sometimes. Realign your chakras or your-“</p><p>“Your education is important. Why are you taking a break?” He presses, brows furrowing. “Truthfully. You’re dancing around an issue and its tiring.”</p><p>Not sure I owe him a truth I haven’t even told my friends yet but… sure, why not. I already gave him my first sexual experience today, might as well just come clean entirely and give him the truth. I spread my fingers across my knees, then ball them into fists, then spread them out again, watching them with far more idle interest than they deserve. Anything to look at is better than those prying eyes.</p><p>“I, uh, needed to be able to pick up more shifts at work. My mom is kinda sick, and things are just kinda piling up, so. You know. She’s… Yeah. I just wanna… help her out.”</p><p>He’s quiet for a moment. Worried on some level that maybe he just randomly disappeared, I look up. He’s staring at me with that intense, analytical eye.</p><p>“You haven’t told your friends yet.” Once again, offering a question like a statement. I pull my knees up to my chest with a sigh.</p><p>“Uh, no, not really. I don’t want them to worry. Look, we really don’t need to keep talking about me. We can just… move on to something else.”</p><p>“You’re the one who asked me in to talk. So we’re talking.”</p><p>“Sure, right, yeah, of course. But like… maybe we can talk about something else. And not me.”</p><p>“Such as?”</p><p>“I mean, you’re an interesting guy. Everybody on campus is talking about <em>you</em>,” I offer.</p><p>“If everyone on campus is talking about me, then there’s clearly nothing else to say.”</p><p>“Yeah, but straight from the horse’s mouth? I mean the rumour mill is running wild with stories that you’re a mad scientist who tried to develop the perfect, untraceable poison for your senior project.”</p><p>He laughs coldly, but like… genuine amusement. That’s progress! I shift towards him, eager to bring him more stories of his sordid past.</p><p>“That’s a far stretch from agricultural chemistry.”</p><p>“And that you cut off your fingers and fed them to your ex’s lover.”</p><p>“Did I, now? Well how very curious.”</p><p>“And that you tried to kill your boyfriend because he was sleeping with another guy.”</p><p>He’s on me in a flash, grasping my ankles and tugging me towards him, pressing me down onto the bed, looming over me and half-straddling me. A cold fury burns in his eyes. I gulp, realizing I’d taken things a bit too far.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“You should be careful who you get your information from,” he snarls, his voice dark, gruff.</p><p>“I’m sorry!” I breathe. “I shouldn’t have said anything, it’s just there’s a lot of stories going around on campus!”</p><p>He grabs a fistful of my shirt and presses down against my chest. I shrink back into the mattress as he fumes above me.</p><p>“My life isn’t just fodder for your gossip mill,” Alex growls.</p><p>“I know! I’m sorry,” I insist, unable to look away from those eyes. They’re like big pools of hurt and anger, swirling around and not quite sure what to do with all their turmoil. They grip my heart and threaten to squeeze until it bursts. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Sorry,” I repeat, less frenetic, trying to calm my breathing, hoping the will I’m putting out into the universe will help calm him, too. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>I can feel his breath pour down over me, warm and hot and furious. I can hear his breathing slowly start to calm, feel that anger melting away into the silence of the room.</p><p>But he doesn’t move, just looms. “I didn’t try to kill him. I didn’t do anything to him. I told him the solution was unstable, that he needed to—”</p><p>He stops, his words catch in his throat, as if realizing for once that <em>he</em> is talking without having intended to.</p><p>He shifts, his knee between my legs, pressing up against me. I gasp, my back arching up at the sudden sensation. I swear I see the corner of his lips twitch.</p><p>“Perhaps it's time we stop talking,” he rumbles.</p><p>“Look, Alex, I really am sorry. Honest, I really didn’t mean to—”</p><p>His hand releases my fistful of shirt, slides up my chest, along my neck, winding into my hair and gripping it tightly while he presses his knee into my crotch. I bite my lip and push back a moan.</p><p>“I don’t really care, Elliott. People talk. I should really stop caring what they say. Now take off your pants.”</p><p>“W-what?”</p><p>“You heard me.”</p><p>“Bud, I don’t know, my mom’s here, and—”</p><p>“You wanted to talk. We talked. And now I want to fuck you.” He pauses, considers. “Is that alright?”</p><p>What do you say to that? “Y-yes?”</p><p>I guess <em>yes?</em> is what you say to that.</p><p>“Then take off your pants.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. No Touching</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Let’s dive into some smut, shall we?</p><p>CW: Choking, bondage, mild dubcon, mention of whipping, biting</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter Nine</b><br/>
<em>No Touching</em>
</p><p>Elliott’s eyes widen at the demand, but with my knee pressed between his legs I can feel his cock harden at the idea. He reaches down for his zipper and I shift away as he kicks and shimmies out of his skinny jeans.</p><p>I straddle him, still gripping his hair tightly, running my other hand along his abdomen, drawing his shirt up. He’s lean, wiry. Likely not the kind of person to see any time in a gym, owing his form simply to a youthful metabolism.</p><p>I bend down to kiss him as my thumb glides over his nipple, causing his body to move under me. I had never been incredibly interested in the virginal dynamic, but I have to admit the responses of an untouched body are intoxicating.</p><p>I kiss him gently, drawing him up to me slightly with my fistful of his hair, as my hand glides back down his body. We’d moved quickly in the bathroom. I’d been full of anger and anxiety and a desperate need to make him stop talking.</p><p>This is different. Despite spending the evening with him, walking him home… his presence still aggravates me. And while the annoyance remains, there’s something… good about him. Poor decisions with good intent. It’s relatable. Maybe it's something I’m drawn to.</p><p>Or maybe he’s malleable and willing and I need a distraction.</p><p>I slide my fingers beneath the waist of his underwear, his cock already hard and anxious to be touched. Elliott groans into my mouth as I wrap my hand around his erection, gripping, running a forceful thumb along its base.</p><p>His hands rise tentatively to my chest, up to the bared skin of my neck. I tug sharply on his cock and his yelp is muffled in my kiss. I pull back from him, gripping his hair tightly and pulling him up close to my face.</p><p>“I thought I told you earlier to not touch me,” I hiss.</p><p>“S-sorry! I didn’t know that was still a—”</p><p>“It is.”</p><p>His hands drop to his sides obediently. I pull his head back down to the bed sharply and take a moment to survey that slight tinge of fear lingering on the edges of his eyes. It’s good to see it back. He needs to remember his place.</p><p>I start to pump his cock with rough tugs, watching his face closely. He can’t hold my intensity and looks away, but with each jerk I watch as his face tightens in a faint grimace accompanied by a soft “ah…" of pleasure. A good dynamic.</p><p>I can feel him arch under me. The squirming is delightful. Watching him squeeze his eyes shut, his mouth opening, his neck stretching and baring itself to me… Every piece of the puzzle beautiful and exhilarating.</p><p>And then I feel fingertips on the soft skin of my sides, beginning to trace their way up under my shirt. I try to suppress the rising panic that grips me, try to stay in control.</p><p>I pull my hand from his underwear to snatch one of his wrists, my other hand shifting down to his neck and gripping it.</p><p>“You don’t know how to fucking listen, do you?” I snarl, squeezing at his neck, feeling his throat tense beneath me. “I don’t think I ask very much of you, do I? All you have to do is lie there and be used. That isn’t very much to ask, is it?”</p><p>He stays silent. A good impulse, in general. I grip his neck tighter, leaning into him. “I asked you a question,” I spit. “For once, use your words well.”</p><p>“N-no. It isn’t too much to ask,” he chokes out. I can feel the words vibrate against my hand.</p><p>His eyes glitter with just enough fear to show that he questions if I might actually do something to him. Fear tempered by the knowledge that I’m not actually just some stranger. I’m his friend’s friend. And his friend’s friend would never actually want to hurt him… right? It’s a good balance. A beautiful balance. Fear in the confines of hopeful safety.</p><p>I release his throat, and he coughs roughly, his hands rubbing at his neck with a grimace. I lean up and start to unfasten my belt. His eyes dart to the motion as I slide it from my belt loops.</p><p>“W-whoa, hold on. What are you—” he starts, and this time I see real fear in his eyes. The presence of something that could actually hurt him. But I have no intention of beating him. Not now, at any rate. Only if he ever asks nicely.</p><p>The expression of unrestrained fear on Elliott’s face, however, was worth the brief misconception.</p><p>I grab his wrists in one hand, wrenching them together and wrapping the belt around them. I tighten it with a rough snap, then tug his arms up over his head.</p><p>“You’ve shown yourself unable to be trusted with the simplest of requests,” I say calmly, reaching over him and wrapping the end of the belt around one of the slats of the footboard. I tie it, giving it a tug to make sure it's secure. “So you lose the right of having free hands. Do you have a problem with this?”</p><p>He shakes his head quickly, not even testing the fastness of the bind that holds him tethered below me.</p><p>"Nope, no, that's, uh, no problem," he stammers.</p><p>“Good. If you want me to stop, you can say so, but otherwise I don’t want to hear another word from you unless requested. Do you understand?”</p><p>He nods. Good. At least he can very slowly learn.</p><p>I slide off of him, feet planting on the ground, standing over him and slowly surveying my prize. As irritating as the man is, I’m gripped with how beautiful he looks spread out before me. His arms raised above his head, wrists tightly bound, framing a mess of curls and a tanned face painted with trepidation.</p><p>

</p><p>He feels small when I use him, but his nearly six foot frame stretches the length of the bed fully. His shirt is pulled up slightly, revealing the soft skin of his stomach, unblemished. I wonder how much more lovely it might look with the bite of my belt across it. I press the thought down for another time as my eyes drift to the bulge of a still hard cock aching to be touched again.</p><p>I crawl back onto the bed at his feet and roughly tug his underwear down to his thighs. His cock rises to me, and I take a slow moment to admire it properly. With its host restrained and silent, I feel at ease to take my time. To savour the moment. To know that, should I want to see it again, I could easily summon that look of fear in his eyes.</p><p>I lean down over his cock, running my fingers along it, gripping its base, taking its tip into my mouth. It jerks as I do, and there is something so utterly delightful about knowing I’m the first to have tasted it, the first mouth to have claimed it. Claiming untouched territory had never been of particular interest to me.</p><p>How lovely to discover new interests.</p><p>I take his cock into my mouth, and its meager length isn’t taxing. A suitable length, a perfect length, unable to reach the back of my throat. I slide back up, pressing my teeth lightly below the head.</p><p>
  
</p><p>An unbidden gasp of a moan escapes from Elliott’s lips as his cock twitches in my mouth.</p><p>My tongue circles his shaft and I suck at his tip, toying with him, experiencing him, never giving enough time to any one action to let him build. His cock is for me right now. For my pleasure. He is just a body for me to play with, tied up and stretched out as I tease every first experience out of him. Moving, touching, tasting, biting with the freedom of knowing if he wants me to stop, all he has to do is say it.</p><p>“Do you like it when I suck on you?” I ask, nipping lightly at him. His lips remain firmly shut. “I asked you a question, Elliott.”</p><p>“O-Oh, I can talk now?”</p><p>“If I ask you a question, you can.”</p><p>“Cool. Right. Um, yes?”</p><p>“Is that a question or an answer.”</p><p>“Yes. I like it.”</p><p>“What does that make you?”</p><p>“S-sorry?”</p><p>I crawl up along his form, my pelvis pressed against him, arms lifting my abdomen up at an angle as I leer down at him.</p><p>“It makes you a slut. Are you a slut, Elliott?”</p><p>His cock throbs against me greedily and he nods. “Y-yes.”</p><p>“Say it.”</p><p>“I’m a slut.”</p><p>I grab his face, squeezing, a delicious growl in my throat as my lips twist into a smile. “You’re <em>my</em> slut. Does my slut want a cock up his ass?”</p><p>His face flashes red, and I can hear his heart race. “Y-yes.”</p><p>“Beg for it.”</p><p>“P-please. I want it. Please.”</p><p>I watch him with mild interest, evaluating the sincerity in his face as he stares up at me, chest drawing in shallow, quivering breaths.</p><p>“It’s a start,” I say, smacking his face lightly. I sit up and roughly flip him beneath me, a doll to easily manhandle. The dildo that I’d spotted earlier suggested there would likely be lube nearby, and I wasn’t disappointed after a quick check in the bedside table’s drawer.</p><p>I turn my attention towards his bared ass, round and fresh and lovely. My hands run along it, gripping it, testing it, spreading it. I bend down, running my tongue along his skin, baring teeth and pressing them into flesh. He clenches, a muffled gasp, and I pull back to see the soft indentations of my teeth on his ass. Nowhere near enough to break skin, just a beautiful reminder of what is mine.</p><p>And what I now intend to claim.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>butt * stuff * butt * stuff * butt * stuff</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. The Monster</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So this ended up going some places I didn’t plan on, so like, BIG CONTENT WARNING for this chapter. I think I’m gonna plop a rape warning, even though that’s not quite what’s going on.</p><p>CW: Dubcon, maybe noncon?, rape ideation, sexual violence, sexual violence ideation, rough anal</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter Ten</b><br/>
<em>The Monster</em>
</p><p>I spread him, his hole dark and inviting. I run my thumb against it and Elliott flinches under me, biting back a moan. I press into him gently with my thumb, testing, relishing its response, anxious to fill it with every inch of me.</p><p>I rub a few drops of lube into him, inching my finger into him, rubbing his wall, stretching him wider with a second finger. I can feel myself throb for him, willing my impatience to simmer down.</p><p>“I wonder,” I rumble, easing my fingers back and forth into him with steady, slow, pressure. “How often do you shove that dildo of yours into your hungry asshole? This isn’t a hole unused to being filled, is it?”</p><p>I pause a beat, but when he doesn’t answer I slide my fingers out and smack his ass hard. “I asked you a question.”</p><p>“Ah! No, no, I… I use it a lot.”</p><p>“What a slut you are… Let’s see if you can handle something a little bigger than that dildo of yours.”</p><p>I add a little more lube in anticipation. I know I can be a lot to handle, and at least for now I want to know the feel of him squirming under me is from pleasure and not pain. And after our earlier interrupted experience in the bathroom, my body is aching to cum. I slip out of my pants, pull a condom from my wallet, and roll it down along my length.</p><p>I settle over him, my cock against his asshole, pressing gently. It gives slightly, and I ease it out then back in. His asshole hungrily sucks in the head of my cock with surprising ease.</p><p>“Ah! Oh, fuck!” Elliott gasps as squeezes tightly around my shaft. His back tenses, his hands gripping the leather of the belt strap.</p><p>“Too much?” I ask, tinging my voice with an utter lack of sympathy. Perhaps slight amusement.</p><p>“Ha, no, you kidding? Barely, uh, barely feel it,” he grimaces, trying at a light chuckle.</p><p>“Well let’s see if we can help you feel it a little more,” I growl softly.</p><p>I rock my hips into him with glacial restraint, pushing myself deeper into him with every slow, gentle thrust. He exhales sharply with every move, each breath melting into a deep and airy moan.</p><p>With a final thrust he takes my whole length, and I hold myself against him, relishing the feel of him tight around my cock. I lean down on top of him, my weight heavy against his back. I draw his head back slightly by the hair, and nip at his ear.</p><p>“Can you feel it now?” I ask, my breath pooling over his ear.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Y-yeah…” he groans.</p><p>“You took it well. I appreciate such a hungry little ass,” I hiss into his ear. I suck on his lobe, pulling his head back a little more, craning his neck. I start to move my hips into him, small, shallow thrusts, my cock buried in him, my skin slapping against his. “It turns out I was rather lucky today, wouldn’t you say, Elliott? To find a fuck toy so quickly. It’s quite convenient.”</p><p>I keep a steady rhythm, not pulling out too far, relishing the feel of his tight asshole gripping the base of my cock.</p><p>“What would your friends think of you right now? Strung up like a whore. Do they know what a filthy slut you are? Or am I the only one who gets to see you like this?”</p><p>“No, just… just you,” he gasps, my thrusts making his voice come in short bursts.</p><p>“That’s right. And whose slut are you?”</p><p>“Y-yours.”</p><p>He plays along nicely. It’s satisfying to finally put those words of his to good use.</p><p>“That’s right,” I growl. “I think I’ll reward you with a proper fucking, now.”</p><p>I pull out, straightening up, then tug his hips back and up, rising to meet me. His arms are stretched straight, straining at his bonds, his face buried in the mattress. For a brief moment I wonder if I should check to make sure it’s alright. But my cock is aching to be back inside of him. He can stop this if he wants to. I don’t need to deprive myself until then.</p><p>My fingers grip his hips, pulling him back onto me. His hole resists for a moment, and I give him a sharp tug back. With a yelp buried deep in the mattress he yields and stretches over me.</p><p>I thrust into him, longer, deeper, pulling his hips back to meet every advance. I watch with mounting satisfaction as his arms go taught with every pull on his hips. His hands scramble to grab ahold of the belt restraining him, to lessen the pressure on his wrists. It’s pleasant to watch, fascinating to see him try to regain some modicum of control.</p><p>I keep my hips stationary, dragging him back and forth over me, watching with relish as his body lifts fully off the bed, stretched, suspended, muscles in his back flexing as be tries to stabilize himself. Watching the struggle, the panic, the realization that he is nothing but a doll to be fucked, and he is powerless and small.</p><p>“A-alex!” he gasps. “Stop, it- it hurts!”</p><p>I pull him off of me with satisfaction, dropping him to the mattress. He gasps for air, pulling himself further down the bed, the strain on his wrists eased, propping himself up on his elbows.</p><p>“Are you alright?” I ask, the words perfunctory.</p><p>“I… yeah. My wrists hurt a bit.”</p><p>I could stop. I could gently turn him over and jerk him off and kiss the corners of his lips and tell him how good he was to let me use him, how wonderful he made me feel. I could stop all this right now.</p><p>And I know that, in a few hours, once the rush of this encounter has worn off, once the rush of control and abuse and domination has faded into the quiet thoughts of a dark room, I’ll hate myself. Hate the way I want him to hurt, just a bit. Hate the way I want to leave marks on his smooth skin, to let anyone else know that I’ve already been here, I’ve already used this toy. Hate the way I can’t stop thinking about that look of fear when he thought I was going to strike him, and how much I want to see it again.</p><p>I’ve been down this road before. No matter what I do now, those thoughts will find their way to me. No matter what I do now, tonight I will drown in the knowledge that I’m a monster.</p><p>So if that is the inevitable route, I see no reason to coo over him and coddle him and tell him how beautiful he looks when his pleasure takes ahold of him. If my fate of a night of self-loathing is already sealed, then I may as well take what I can right now.</p><p>“And it is just your wrists that are sore?”</p><p>“Um, yeah, mostly. I think they need a break from all that pressure.”</p><p>Elliott starts to turn over, expecting that my hesitation is perhaps an indication that our time is done. I shove him back down into the mattress, my hand on his shoulder, pouring my weight down against him. He turns his head to avoid being smothered in the sheets.</p><p>“Fortunately,” I growl, a deep rumble that vibrates in the caverns of my chest, “Your wrists can take their break while I continue to fuck you.”</p><p>Before he can respond, I press myself back into him. His body accepts me willingly, easily, betraying words of questioning hesitance I only vaguely register. I pound him roughly, weighing him down with my hand on his shoulder, keeping him in place, keeping my piece of meat still.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“A-alex… wait, I… oh fuck…” he gasps, and the cries of pleasure I pull from him with every drive of my cock drive me wild. He tries to bury them in the sheets, no doubt hoping the sound won’t travel downstairs.</p><p>I fuck him hard, ruthlessly, my muscles tightening as he tries to hold back his slutty sounds. So many sounds. So much noise. It starts to stir something in me. At first I think it a fire of passion, enjoyment of his pleasure. But no… fire of a different sort. Anger. He’s so loud. Everything is so loud. Why the <em>fuck</em> is he so loud…</p><p>And why do I care? Why am I so angry? I hate myself for it, hate the way I can feel myself spinning out of control, can feel that anger taking hold and refusing to let me back in.</p><p>I’m exactly what Franklin had said I was. I’m exactly the monster he told me he saw. It’s not what I want to be. It's not the person I wanted to become.</p><p>But sometimes we can’t help what we are.</p><p>Just like this pathetic man can’t help being a loud, obnoxious piece of fuckmeat.</p><p>I press his head down into the mattress with my other hand, keeping my weight on his shoulder, fucking him, never stopping, never slowing. He struggles under me, and I love the feel of it. He’s nothing beneath me, nothing compared to the strength and bulk of me. I could break him so easily. He is powerless to stop me. Just a hole to fill and a piece of meat to fuck and use and rape and-</p><p>“ALEX!” the muffled cry breaks me from the haze of violence I’d given control. I draw a hoarse gasp of air, pulling out of him, scrambling back until I hit the headboard.</p><p>I’m shaking, hands balled into fists but not enough to stop the tremors. Elliott sits up, sliding his hands out of their bonds, sitting at the opposite end of the bed and just staring at me.</p><p>I can’t look him in the face, can’t see what I know is a look of horror and hatred and fear. The look of a man who has seen what I truly am.</p><p>“Are you okay?” His voice is soft. Not terrified. Not shaking. I glance up at him in shock. His face is flushed, his hair disheveled. His expression etched not with disgust but concern. “You were… crying.”</p><p>I’m suddenly aware of wetness on my face, and I look away as I wipe away a streak of tears.</p><p>“Did I… Did I hurt you?” I ask, and my voice is shaking as uncontrollably as my body.</p><p>“What? No, I mean, well yeah, but not, like, in a bad way, you know? Like a good day at the gym where your muscles are all… aw, who am I kidding, I've never been to the gym. Geez… I'm talking too much again, aren't I?” He laughs uncomfortably, then draws his focus back to me. My eyes dart up to his, that infuriating look of concern and pity twisting his brows. He starts to reach for me.</p><p>“Don’t touch me,” I spit, and I can feel hot shame flashing over me as the anger fades. I desperately try to shove down the memory of all the thoughts that had run through my mind, the desires that had sprung up as I fucked him.</p><p>“Okay. Yeah, sorry. I won’t.” He hesitates, and when he speaks his voice is so calm and soft and not at all the anxious prattle that grates on my senses. “Alex, you didn’t hurt me. I liked it. I only stopped you because I thought something was wrong.”</p><p>The sympathy, the concern, the tenderness… he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand what I am. What I wanted to do. And for his sake, I need to leave. For his sake, I need to never speak to him again.</p><p>I get to my feet, pulling my pants back on, grabbing my coat as I stride to the door.</p><p>“Wait!” Elliott scrambles off the bed and intercepts me at the door, careful not to grab me. “Are you sure you’re okay?”</p><p>“Move, Elliott.”</p><p>“Alex—”</p><p>“I’m leaving.”</p><p>“Yeah, that’s fine. I just… I had a good time tonight. Remember, that, okay? Can I… can I kiss you?”</p><p>My heart stops as I stare down at him. Kiss me? Why would he want to kiss me after… all of that. He doesn’t move to do it himself, just stands in front of the door, waiting for an answer.</p><p>I can feel the self-hatred and darkness looming, know it is ready to hit me in full force. And I wonder if he can stave it off for just a moment longer.</p><p>“Yes,” I say, my voice flat, pressing down emotion to try to stop the shaking.</p><p>"Can I touch your face? Is that okay?"</p><p>"...Yes."</p><p>He reaches up for me, a hand running along my jaw as he stretches himself up on his toes to meet my lips. He kisses me softly, sweetly, and I don’t know what to make of something so tender. From a man I’d just met hours ago. From a man I’d treated so carelessly.</p><p>He pulls back, feet flat once more, and he doesn’t seem so small and malleable anymore.</p><p>“Good night, Alex.”</p><p>I can’t find the words, so I push past him, down the stairs, the dark hall stretching out before me. The soft snores of someone sleeping soundly deeper in the house fill me with a sudden ache, a sudden nostalgia. A yearning for comfort and safety and home.</p><p>Things I haven't had in a long time. My feet pull me back to campus, as my brain competes with the dual images of Elliott’s tender kiss and the monster he was kissing.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Phew. Alex I love you but you need some help, you’re kinda shitty. :(</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Aftermath</h2></a>
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Morning :)</h2></a>
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  <b>Chapter Twelve</b><br/>
<em>Morning :)</em>
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  <em>Thwud, thwud, thwud.</em>
</p><p>“Yeah, just a sec!” the voice from inside called. A thrill of elation rose in me, a lightness of body. Even after all this time, his voice still made my chest flutter. I shifted nervously in place as I heard the footsteps, my hands feeling suddenly clammy. My grip tightened on the bouquet in my hands, the brown paper wrapped around it crinkling.</p><p><em>Calm down, Alexander,</em> I thought, straightening the lapel of my suit jacket. <em>It's just three words. You can do this.</em></p><p>The door opened, and there he was, perfectly framed in the doorway. He was beautiful. A slim form, narrow shoulders, chestnut hair already greying at the temples, even at so young an age. His jaw was strong, his chin sharp, grey eyes that moved like storm clouds beneath the glint of his glasses.</p><p>I watched as those eyes washed over me, taking in my broad form, hungrily drifting to the parts of me he loved the most. Finally, his eyes darted back up to mine.</p><p>“You look nice,” the man grinned, running his hand through his hair to return its swoop to full form. “And just where did you find ranunculus this time of year?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest, that crooked smile spread across a clean-shaven face.</p><p>“I saved some of the seeds from last year. Planted them in my greenhouse so they would be ready in time,” I said, offering him the bouquet. He took it, his hand sliding over mine, lingering, before lifting the flowers from my grip.</p><p>“A very sweet and long-term idea. And what made you think we would still be together once they bloomed?” he asked.</p><p>I stepped towards him, running a hand along his jawline, cradling the back of his head. I pulled him towards me, bending down to press my lips against his. I was loath to separate, wishing I could soak in those lips all evening. But I forced myself back, trying to affect a far more calm and collected persona than I felt.</p><p>“I knew,” I said, running my thumb over his lips before slipping my hands into my pockets in what I hoped looked incredibly cool and casual. “Are you ready to go?"</p><p>“Nevermind that. Get in here. I want to show you something,” he said, taking my hand and drawing me into the apartment. I wondered if he could see the irritation in my face as he set the flowers on the kitchen counter and pulled me to the table.</p><p>My eyes scanned the apartment, an upscale loft his father had paid for, littered with days-old takeout containers and half-consumed cups of coffee. It was atypical. The dining room table was strewn with papers and notes, experiment logs. He gathered a few pages, pushed them into my hands. I looked at him, trying to contain my disappointment. But he nodded to the papers, so I gave them a brief glance for his sake.</p><p>I nodded briefly, then handed it back. “Looks promising. But let’s put this aside for tonight, alright?”</p><p>Franklin’s expression fell, not moving to take the papers I offered him. “Are you serious? Alexander, I spent the past week working on this!”</p><p>“That’s quite evident from the state of this apartment. Did you even remember we had plans tonight?” I asked, trying to keep my voice level. The effort was pointless; we could both hear the venom in the words.</p><p>“This is for <em>you!</em>” Franklin yelled, snatching the papers from my hands and throwing them to the table. “You think I care about fucking <em>pesticides</em>? I’ve been working my ass off to help you!”</p><p>“And you know I appreciate it, but we had-”</p><p>“It’s just one dinner! We can skip <em>one</em> dinner! ”</p><p>I shoved him down into the chair with more force than I meant to, and he nearly toppled back. Furious eyes stared back up at me, daring me to touch him again. I realized my hands are balled into white-knuckled fists, and I slowly forced them to relax. I took a few breaths to steady myself, to calm myself.</p><p>“It’s our <em>fucking</em> anniversary, Franklin. Did you even remember that?” My voice was quiet, controlled, as I realized the night I'd planned was crashing all around me. Three words that wouldn't be uttered. Words I'd been aching to say for so long.</p><p>I’d hoped for a dynamic silence to follow my accusation, expected an apology, a lack of realization, an explanation. A concession that he would stop and we could spend the night together.</p><p>“Of course I did, but it’s just a number, Alexander. We can do this any day. But I was making real progress! I didn’t want to disrupt it just to eat dinner with my boyfriend.”</p><p>Everything gets fuzzy from here… What happened next? Images of his wrists bound by a leather belt while I fucked him ruthlessly, smothering him against the mattress. But no… that wasn’t right. That… that wasn’t him...</p><p>“You’re hurting me,” the not-Franklin says. “Please stop. It hurts.”</p><p>I don’t stop. I want it to hurt. He deserves this. He… no, he doesn’t. He doesn’t deserve any of it.</p><p>Why do I always hurt the people who are willing to get close to me?</p><p>“It’s because you’re a monster,” the not-Franklin says. “It’s why you’ll never find love. Who could love such a disgusting animal?”</p><p>
  <em>Of course. Who could ever love this? It’s safer to stay away.</em>
</p><p>“Are you alright?”</p><p>
  <em>What?</em>
</p><p>“Alexander. That is your name, yes?”</p><p>
  <em>Why wouldn’t Franklin know my name?</em>
</p><p>“Hello?”</p><p>I feel the cold touch of a hand on my arm, and bright, sharp pricks of pain spread down my skin as I bolt upright.</p><p>“Don’t touch me!” I growl, my head spinning at my sudden movement, my eyes scanning my surroundings, trying to stabilize, trying to orient.</p><p>I’m in a dorm room. <em>My</em> dorm room. Yes… At ALU. Franklin isn’t here. Of course he isn’t here. None of that… none of it was real. Just memories blending with dreams.</p><p>“You should lay back down. I don’t think you are well.”</p><p>My eyes dart up the form lurking over me, careful concern on their face. They don’t look familiar, but I can only assume they are the roommate I had yet to meet. When I’d returned late last night they had already been asleep.</p><p>I’m struck by their calm presence, a dichotomy of soft and sharp. An oval face, soft features but for sharp cheekbones. Olive skin, heavily pierced ears, and a mostly shaved head with a mohawk of auburn hair pulled into a high, short ponytail. An oversized vintage army jacket drapes their small frame. Jeans rolled up at the cuff just above heavy boots. Dark eyes stare down at me not with concern, but care. Like a physician who knows you’re unwell, but also knows they can help.</p><p>“Sorry. You startled me,” I say, rubbing my face wearily, trying to push the images of Franklin out of my mind.</p><p>“Are you alright? Do you need anything?” they ask, and I’m awake enough now to register their voice. Smooth and warm, an accent tugging their words softly, like water navigating the stones in the brook behind my childhood home.</p><p>“No, I’m fine,” I say. “What was your name?”</p><p>“B. Though you might know me as Bloodhound.”</p><p>I vaguely remember the name from the group chat. I hadn’t paid much attention to it since Natalie had added me to it.</p><p>“You’re friends with Natalie?” I ask.</p><p>“Yes. Your phone has been going off all morning. You should check your messages.”</p><p>“Oh… I apologize. I will.”</p><p>“No need for apologies. I’ll leave you to it.” They nod, turn towards their desk, grab a shoulder bag, then leave without another word.</p><p>… Alright.</p><p>There are, indeed, several messages from Natalie, asking if I want to go get breakfast, bemoaning that she is very hungry, wondering if I died, and so on. Hidden in the notifications amongst the barrage of eager invites from my closest friend and the chatter of the group chat is a single message from “Mirage.”</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Mirage:</strong> Morning :)</p>
</blockquote><p>I stare at the single word. After everything that happened, after what I did. I don’t understand. My fingers start to type out a response. An apology. An explanation. Delete delete delete. Then just “morning.” Delete. I groan, navigating away from his message to Natalie’s. I should probably respond to her.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Alex:</strong> Breakfast sounds good. 30 minutes at your place.<br/>
<strong>Natalie:</strong> Hooray! You’re up! I’m so hungry!!! Make it a fast 30, k? ;)</p>
</blockquote><p>I take a quick shower, scrubbing away the sex and the guilt from the night before, tug on fresh clothes, and head to Natalie’s dorm.</p><p>She’s leaning up against the door, waiting for me. Her face widens in a big grin when she sees me. I need to see it more than I realize. Need to remind myself that someone can experience joy that pure just at the sight of me.</p><p>She really is a remarkable person.</p><p>“Good morning!” She grins, stowing her phone in her pockets as she straightens up. “I’d invite you in but Renee is still sleeping and also I’m starving.”</p><p>“So you’ve said. And where am I taking my hungry little engineer this morning?” I ask, offering my arm out to her. She clings to it like a child clutching a beloved stuffed animal.</p><p>“You’ll learn soon enough the only place worth going here is the coffee shop.” She tugs on my arm, a distant look crossing her blue eyes. “There’s an almond croissant there that just falls apart and is so tasty and you’re going to buy me two. Okay?”</p><p>“I suppose I can manage that.”</p><p>We start towards the coffee shop, and Natalie uses the time to point out locations of interest on the walk. There’s a bookstore she likes because it carries local zines and niche comics. That’s the Subway you don’t go into because its “creepy” and “is mean to homeless people” and “who eats at Subway anyhow.” There’s the convenience store that has the nice old owner who will give you a free hot chocolate if its really cold out.</p><p>As we step into the coffee shop, I see him. I don’t know why I thought he wouldn’t be here. Dark shadows hang under his caramel eyes, but that’s the only hint that he might not have gotten a good night’s sleep. His smile is wide as he chats easily with a couple of older women at the register. They’re giggling, nudging each other’s arms like schoolgirls.</p><p>
  
</p><p>It’s a different perspective of the man. When I’d met him, this charismatic energy had turned nervous and frantic when faced with an impossible task of impressing me. Every other encounter with him had been tinged with that same nervousness.</p><p>But it clearly was only a part of him. And maybe this is only a part of him, too. Perhaps there’s another version of Elliott Witt, one very few get to see. One that’s at ease and doesn’t feel the need to perform for tips or walk on eggshells. And I realize I desperately want to see that Elliott Witt.</p><p>“Alex?” Natalie asks, tugging on my arm. “You coming?”</p><p>I’d been staring at him. Christ… And judging from the way Natalie’s eyes track from mine to the counter, she can tell. She steps in front of me in some attempt to block my line of sight, despite the fact that she is nearly a foot shorter than me.</p><p>She lets go of my arm, leaning in conspiratorially, tapping my chest.</p><p>“Psst! He’s cute, right? I’m pretty sure he’s bi. D’you want me to find out?” She asks, her eyes sparkling with intensity.</p><p>I’m pretty sure I found that out for myself.</p><p>“It’s nothing, Nat. Can we go somewhere else? I’d rather not-”</p><p>“Natalie! Alex! Hi!”</p><p>Too late. Natalie spins around and waves, already heading his way. I follow reluctantly.</p><p>How can I even look him in the face. How can I—</p><p>And then I do. I look up and he’s smiling at me. Soft, reserved, authentic. His eyes shift to Natalie and that smile is gone, replaced with a wide, toothy grin. Exuberant. Playful. A mask.</p><p>“And I want two of them,” Natalie finishes, and I realize I’ve zoned out again, realize I’ve been staring again. I drop my eyes to the pastry Natalie is pointing at just to give myself something else to focus on. “Oh, and one of the cinnamon buns for Alex.”</p><p>“Nat-”</p><p>“You’ll like it! They taste just like my mom’s,” she insists.</p><p>“And black coffee, no room?” Elliott asks, turning his smile back to me. The one he wears for customers, the other smile hidden once more. I nod. “You got it! Hey, Nats, you know if anyone is planning on playing tonight?”</p><p>“Um, I don’t know! School starts tomorrow so we probably shouldn’t stay up too late, right? But maybe we can do a quick run!” Natalie glances over at me, holding out her hand expectantly. I dig out my wallet, pull out my card, and place it in her outstretched palm.</p><p>“Good choice, make the old man pay,” Elliott grins. As he reaches for the card, I can see red marks on his wrists left by my belt. He swipes the card, and I try to look away from his wrists. I cock a brow at him.</p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p>“Um, cause you’re older than us! Right? Sorry, that was dumb. I was just-”</p><p>“You really do act like an old man sometimes, Alex,” Natalie says, nudging my side. “You shoulda heard him when we were in high school. He used to yell at kids for running in the halls,” she laughs.</p><p>“Yeah, I can see that,” Elliott says, and his eyes soften as they drift to me. A receipt prints, and he hands both back to me. Natalie intercepts, taking my wallet as she does. She pulls a few bills out and stuffs them in the tip jar before handing it all back to me.</p><p>“Oh, you don’t have to—” Elliott starts, starting to reach for the jar.</p><p>I hold up a hand. “The girl does what she wants,” I say.</p><p>“Yes, I do,” Natalie responds with satisfaction, reaching forward and gently pressing fingers against Elliott’s lips as he begins to object again. “Elliott, you’re single, right?”</p><p>His smile fades as he blinks repeatedly, eyes going vacant. “W-what?”</p><p>“Natalie!” I scold, my muscles tensing, eyes darting to Elliott’s before I draw them quickly away again.</p><p>“And you’re bi, aren’t you?” Natalie persists, as Elliott starts to laugh uncomfortably.</p><p>“<em>Natalie!</em>” I pull her off of him. “Stop.”</p><p>She looks up at me with exasperation. For a second I’m worried she’s going to tell him how I had been staring, but she just sighs, shakes her head, and say, “Fine! Fine! I’m just trying to help. Come on, let’s go find a quiet corner. Thanks, Elliott! I’ll send Alex back up for the goodies in a few minutes!”</p><p>We wander through the warren of the shop for a moment, finally finding a deserted cluster of a few chairs and a loveseat. We pick the latter, Natalie immediately kicking off shoes and curling up into the corner.</p><p>“What in God’s name was that all about?” I grumble as I sink into the couch next to her.</p><p>“Oh, come on! Elliott’s really sweet! I think he would be really good for you. And he is pretty busy with work and school and taking care of his mom, so he wouldn’t be too clingy.”</p><p>“What makes you think I’m looking for anyone?” This wasn’t even deflection. It had been less than a month since Franklin. I clearly hadn’t been ready to be sexually involved with anyone yet, much less romantically. I stare down at my hands, at the slowly healing skin where two fingers once were. “Some wounds take longer to heal,” I add softly, and I don’t even think its directed at her.</p><p>She presses her feet against my leg, a firm, constant pressure. A reminder that she was here. That she would always be here.</p><p>“And some heal faster with when you’re with someone who makes you feel safe.”</p><p>“Your analogy fell apart, Natalie,” I smile, patting her feet, fuzzy socks covered in lightning bolts. “Besides. You make me feel safe.”</p><p>She sighs heavily, pointedly. “I mean like a <em>boy</em>, Alexander. Someone you can kiss and cuddle and talk about science and stuff. Elliott’s smart, even though he plays dumb sometimes.”</p><p>“I honestly just want to get through school at this point. I’m not interested in any more distractions,” I say, squeezing her feet gently.</p><p>“Fiiiiine. But you should at least go talk to him. And hey, now’s your chance because I bet our drinks are ready. Shoo!” She bunny kicks my leg until I stand up with a groan, raising my hands in concession.</p><p>I start to make my way back to the counter. As I pass one of the random offshoots, a booming voice calls out to me.</p><p>“Hey! Alex Nox, yeah?”</p><p>I stop, glancing in the direction of the voice. A large man, at least as big as me, is getting to his feet, his dark, wavy hair pulled up in a bun, and heading my way.</p><p>“Yes?” I ask, positioning myself in a way that indicates I would much rather be continuing on. It doesn’t sway him as he claps a hand on my back with the force of a father greeting their kid’s new boyfriend for the first time. He starts to steer me back to where he’d been sitting.</p><p>“We didn’t get a chance to meet yesterday. I’m Makoa. Gibraltar from the chat?”</p><p>“Excellent. Nice to meet you. I’m just trying to pick up Natalie’s and my drinks.” I try to shrug out of his guiding hand, but when I do he grips my arm. His expression is jovial. The action is not.</p><p>“Sure, sure. I just need a minute, brudda. You and I need to have a word.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Let’s Talk</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <b>  </b>
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  <b>Chapter Thirteen</b><br/>
<em>Let’s Talk</em>
</p><p>Makoa returns us to his table. His cup of coffee is nearly empty, a plate with only a few crumbs remaining is pushed aside to make room for a now closed laptop. He releases my arm when we get to the table, sitting down and ushering towards the other seat. I take it with stiff hesitance, desperately wishing Natalie would suddenly pass by and interfere.</p><p>“Glad we could get a chance to meet properly before school starts,” Makoa starts, slouching with casual comfort into a wooden chair that groans under the pressure. “First few weeks are always a little busy.”</p><p>“Sure.” My voice is as flat as my expression.</p><p>“Nat talks about you all the time,” he continues undeterred, that smile still wide and amiable, trying to draw me into a sense of comfortable familiarity. He’ll have to try harder than a smile and a kind word.</p><p>“So I’ve heard.”</p><p>“She and I chatted about you before you came, ya know,” he says, picking up his coffee cup and eyeing the remains left, giving it a swirl, then downing it.</p><p>“Is that so. And just what did you chat about?” I ask. He’s moving through this exchange carefully. I suspect I should do the same.</p><p>“Well word was getting around about you. When I found out she was your childhood friend, I wanted her point of view on you, and she wanted to get out ahead of the gossip. Said you were a good guy, someone she trusted. Said we should give you a chance.”</p><p>“Well. What a relief.”</p><p>He sets the cup down, leans towards me, looking me square in the eye.</p><p>“I like that little girl, ya know. She’s a quality kid. She’s got a way of bringing out the best in people, so that’s all she ever tends to see. But that isn’t always a perfect picture of a person. God knows I’m not always at my best.”</p><p>I narrow my eyes, focus on my breathing, push back the rising anger. I can feel the insinuation lining his voice, coating it as it slowly drips out onto his words. I can feel the defensive anger rising in my chest. Just… push it down. He’s her friend… I need to at least try. I owe her that.</p><p>I slowly unclench the fists that my hands had steadily been forming.</p><p>“What’s your point.” The words come out deadlier than I wanted, trapped long enough in a constricted throat to escape only as a dull rumble….</p><p>Makoa lets the smile fade from his face, permits the affectation to drop. His heavy brows furrow gently. “What’s going on with you and Elliott?”</p><p>My breath catches. I’d fully expected him to ask about Natalie. About my relationship with her. I’d been prepared to assure him there had never been any romantic interest. Maybe even go so far as to admit I wasn’t even sure I <em>could</em> have romantic interest in women. That was a tedious line of questioning I had been ready for the moment Natalie had found out I was enrolling at her school and had joyfully exclaimed <em>”You’ll get to meet my friends!”</em></p><p>I hadn’t expected this.</p><p>How did he even know? Had Elliott talked? And more importantly, <em>what</em> did he know…</p><p>I meet his gaze, understanding I’d already delayed my response for far too long. I try to pour every ounce of self-assurance I can muster.</p><p>“The barista? I only met him yesterday.” My tone is dismissive.</p><p>“You didn’t answer my question, Alex,” Makoa reminds me. His voice is soft, but an edge is growing.</p><p>“If you’ve got something to say, come out and say it. I’m not a fan of dancing.”</p><p>“Look, brudda, you don’t have to get touchy. El’s a sweet kid, but he’s naive. He’s not got a lotta experience, ya know? I just wanna make sure he’s not getting taken advantage of.”</p><p>Silence falls between us as Makoa waits for any indication that I’m not trying to hurt his friend. Any hint of assurance at all.</p><p>“I don’t appreciate what you’re implying,” I say slowly, my voice rumbling deep in my chest. I can see the muscles in his neck tense as he tries to maintain what, to anyone watching, could be a friendly disagreement. He smiles. It’s stiff.</p><p>“He’s family, Nox. I don’t let anyone hurt my family.”</p><p>The words hang in the air. And what ground do I have to stand on, to assure him I would never hurt Elliott? Images from not even twenty-four hours ago flash through my mind. Shoving him against a wall. Gagging him with my cock. Choking him, using him… His wrists still bear the marks of my belt. If this giant of a man doesn’t let anyone hurt his family… it doesn’t bode well for our future.</p><p>“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, pushing back the image of Elliott stretched out on the bed, hands bound, looking up at me with trepidation. I stand, and Makoa’s stiff smile falls into a scowl. “It was a pleasure to meet you... Makoa, was it? But I will be getting back to my own family now.”</p><p>I start to walk away. He gets to his feet, reaching out, hand grabbing my arm to stop me. I react. I don’t think, I just… move. I wrench my arm from him, shoving him back. He staggers back a single step before steadying himself, planting his feet, a mountain refusing to yield.</p><p>“Bad move, my friend,” he says, pulling himself up to his full height. It would be a more impressive feat if I didn’t match him in height, if not sheer size. “I don’t wanna fight you.”</p><p>“Then I’d suggest keeping your hands off of me. <em>Friend</em>,” I growl. My hand curls into a fist and I can see the man weighing his options.</p><p>“Makoa? Alex?” the voice is quiet, concern gripping it tightly. I see Makoa’s eyes dart to someone behind me. The tension fades from him, his furrowed brows lifting. I turn to find Elliott, balancing three plates along one of his forearms and two mugs in his other hand, staring at us. His eyes carefully moving between the two of us. “Were you guys… fighting?”</p><p>
  
</p><p>Makoa’s face spreads into a wide smile, warm and assuring. “Just having a little discussion is all, Ell. Let me help you with that, you’re gonna drop it, bud.”</p><p>Just as he says it one of the plates shifts and Elliott scrambles to keep it on his forearm. I have to admit I’m impressed as he brings them back into balance. He himself seems equally impressed.</p><p>“Hoo! Nailed it! Did you guys see that?” Elliott looks up with glee to find Makoa already by his side, reaching for the plates.</p><p>“Here, hand them over,” Makoa takes them from Elliott’s arm, balancing them on his massive hand and forearm with careful precision. “Come on, let’s get these to… where they goin’?”</p><p>“They’re for Natalie. And, uh, and Alex. You mind bringing her the plates? I’ll catch up in a sec. She’s probably in the flower room,” Elliott says, still balancing the two mugs in one hand. Makoa’s eyes drift from Elliott back to me, and I can see that smile falter for just a moment. He regains his composure quickly and nods.</p><p>“Sure thing, El.” He sets his free hand on Elliott’s shoulder gently, then slips past him. Elliott steps over to me, trying at a friendly grin.</p><p>“Hey. Uh, everything okay with you two? You didn’t call it a man bun, did ya? He doesn’t really like that. Trust me.”</p><p>“What did you tell him?” I ask, trying to suppress the shame threatening to wash over me. His smile fades. He takes a few steps closer to me.</p><p>“Tell him? About… about what?”</p><p>“About us. What did you tell him about <em>us</em>?”</p><p>“Nothing! I mean, well, I guess I mighta… mighta told him about the bathroom… thing? But only that it happened! You know me… can’t stop talking sometimes, and I was just trying to process what happened. But I didn’t tell him anything about last night. Or about the… you know, the panic stuff.”</p><p>I can feel the anger rising. My neck getting hot. Just… push it down. You’re here with Natalie. Just get back to Natalie.</p><p>I start towards him, and by the way he starts to shrink back, he must expect me to grab him, or shove him, or… any of the things I’ve done to him in the past 24 hours. I stop just as I’m about to pass him, looming down at him with a snarl that melts away with a sigh.</p><p>“Just keep your mouth shut next time,” I say quietly, and I start to move past him.</p><p>And just like last night, he steps in front of me, blocking my exit.</p><p>“Look, I might not know much about sex, but I know you don’t get to just control who I talk to about it. It’s not just a thing that happened to <em>you.</em> I was there too.” He hesitates, laughs uncomfortably. “You know, in a technical sorta sense.”</p><p>“I don’t like my privacy aired about town to any random person you open your mouth to, Elliott,” I growl. I try to step past him again, but again he blocks me.</p><p>“Gibby’s my friend. If you’ve got a problem with him, then… uh… that’s bad.” It doesn’t quite have the effect he’s hoping for, so he tries to make up for it by straightening his stance, drawing himself up to as tall a height as he can. “You’re being kinda selfish.”</p><p>I open my mouth to hiss a word of warning, but he keeps talking.</p><p>“But I still kinda like you. Maybe I’m just an idiot. I know everyone thinks that… But I don’t want you to go fighting off all my friends, okay? Besides…”</p><p>He stretches out a tentative hand, hesitating just before he touches my chest, questioning, waiting for me to object. I freeze, but don’t move to stop him. His hand slowly presses against my chest, and he leans closer.</p><p>“Trust me, Alex. From my own experience? Nobody here hates you as much as you seem to hate yourself.”</p><p>The words hit me harder than that mountain of a man Makoa could ever have done. The corners of my eyes sting as I look down at him, his face so full of gentle kindness, his brow set in resolution.</p><p>I take a slow breath, try to keep it from shuddering.</p><p>“Elliott?” I ask softly, dropping my gaze, unable to look at him. “Can you… remind me of that? From… time to time.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Elliott says, his hand still pressed against my chest. “Yeah, I think I can do that. Come on. Let’s get these back to Nats before they get much colder.”</p><p>He lingers a moment more, and his hand grips my shirt, pulling gently, as if trying to draw me into him, as if to show he wanted something more right now. But he lets the grip fade, smoothing out my shirt and turning away, looking back with a smile to make sure I’m following.</p><p>I am.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. The Fog Setting In</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <b>  </b>
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  <b>Chapter Fourteen</b>
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  <em>The Fog Setting In</em>
</p><p>“You should just try to be a little nicer,” Natalie sighs later that morning as we’re on our way back to campus. “Makoa is really nice. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who doesn’t like him.”</p><p>“I didn’t say I didn’t like him,” I protest. My mood had turned sour (well… more than usual) the second Makoa had sat down to chat with us. And stayed. For an hour.</p><p>He hadn’t even been too concerned that he’d just left his laptop in the other room.</p><p>“You didn’t have to say <em>anything</em>,” Natalie says. “Your expressions are about as subtle as Elliott’s. But like… in a gurgly <em>I hate everything</em> way instead of an <em>everything is magical</em> way.”</p><p>“I don’t appreciate the comparison. Though... I suppose you have a point. I’ll try to… Nat?” I stop, realizing she’s stopped walking beside me. She’s standing still on the sidewalk, looking down, hands shoved deep in her pockets and shoulders hunched. “Natalie, are you alright?”</p><p>I turn back for her, concern gripping me.</p><p>“I just… had really hoped you would come here and feel what I feel. I love them all so much, Alex. And I love you, too. And I just…” She looks up at me with wide eyes brimming with tears. It rips a hole in my chest. “I just wanted you to feel safe.”</p><p>I pull her into me, holding her tight. Her arms wrap around me as she buries her face in my chest.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“I’m a big boy, Natalie. I can take care of myself.”</p><p>“No you can’t,” she says, her voice muffled in my chest. “You act strong and tough and like you’re too smart to care, but I know you, Alex. I know who you are better than anyone.” She looks up at me, still holding me tightly. “You’ve gotten worse.”</p><p>The words are a punch to the gut. To hear a word from Natalie that isn’t sweet and encouraging is a thing so rare, I could count the times I’ve heard it on one hand. The hand missing two fingers.</p><p>“What do you mean?” I try to sound innocent, confused. But I know what she means. I’ve felt it, too. I’ve been trying to ignore it, trying to mask the truth from myself. Maybe even try to convince myself I’ve just always been like this.</p><p>“You’re angry. So much more angry than you used to be. It’s like… it’s like this dark, toxic fog is just weighing you down. I can see it eating away at you. Its…” She buries her face back into my chest and squeezes me tightly. “It’s turning you into someone I don’t recognize.”</p><p>I want more than anything to deny it, to tell her I’m just going through something, that the fog will pass. It’s just the trauma from what happened. It’s temporary.</p><p>But I’ve felt it settling in, too. And it started long before the incident with Franklin last month.</p><p>I give her a squeeze, then gently pry her off of me. I put on my best smile, the one that comes out so easily whenever I see her. I cradle her face in my hand and stroke her cheek gently with my thumb.</p><p>“I’ll be okay, Nat. I just need some time. Things will get better.”</p><p>She shifts my hand over her mouth, kisses my palm gently, then gathers it up into her own hand, squeezing with every strength in those small fingers. I can barely feel it.</p><p>“They will get better, Alex. I know they will. You just need to let them.”</p><p>We head back to campus, and Natalie insists on me being her shadow for the rest of the day. This mostly means I become an awkward third wheel while running the last-minute school errands she and Renee need to do. I try to be gracious, engaging, and I can tell Renee is trying the same with me. We eventually stop attempting to find common ground in anything but Natalie.</p><p>It’s a dynamic that works well enough. Her reserved nature certainly doesn’t grate quite so strongly against me.</p><p>By the time we return, it’s getting late, and the group chat is indicating its time to play their game. Natalie has mentioned it before. Some sort of fantasy multiplayer computer game. I had, in the past, listened to many an excited spiel about her Warlock.</p><p>I have exactly zero interest in it.</p><p>“At least try it, Alex, please?” Natalie begs, trying to pull me back into her room. “Everyone is on tonight. Well, except Elliott. He worked another double today…”</p><p>“Even if he started a character tonight,” Renee offers as she’s setting up her laptop on her bed, “He’d be level 1. You’d just spend the whole night chauffeuring him around instead of playing with us. Might as well start him when the whole group isn’t together.”</p><p>“Thank you, Renee. A valid point,” I say, motioning to her. She shrugs.</p><p>“Oh, yeah, I guess that’s true…” Natalie sighs, sitting heavily on her bed in defeat. “But maybe next weekend you can at least try it with me?”</p><p>“Fine. I’ll try it next weekend.”</p><p>And with that promise, she allows me to leave. I intend to make my way back to my dorm, but my feet lead me outside. Fair enough, I don’t know if I’m exactly interested in bonding time with a new roommate quite yet.</p><p>The night air is cold, quiet. It smells like snow, crisp and soft, though none has started to fall just yet. It fills my lungs, clears my senses.</p><p>Has this really just been the second day since my arrival on campus? It seems a lifetime already. I can only hope the presence of classes and homework will fill my time enough to filter out the chaff. Focus my time, my energy. Let everything else just… fade away.</p><p>I don’t need new friends. I don’t need new experiences. And I certainly don’t need any romance.</p><p>The thought has barely crossed my mind when I find myself outside the coffee shop. It’s warm glow melts through the windows into the blue of the night. It seems quiet inside, slow. It draws me to it, promising warmth and comfort and the man standing behind the counter, staring at his phone, a soft smile playing at his lips.</p><p>He looks up, scanning the empty shop with bored eyes. He spots me through the window, takes a moment to process before recognition brightens his face. He waves with a lopsided grin, then motions me to come inside.</p><p>I do.</p><p>“You want some coffee? My treat. Sit down, I’ll join you in a sec,” Elliott says as if he’d been expecting me, nodding to one of the little tables lining the huge front windows. As if my presence was a normal and welcome addition to his evening routine. I slip out of my coat, draping it on the chair, and sit down. I watch him draw two cups of coffee from the airpot before making his way over to me.</p><p>He sets one in front of me, then sits down in the chair opposite me.</p><p>“Made it fresh like twenty minutes ago. Dunno if you’re a coffee snob or not. You kinda give off that,” he waves his hand in a circle towards me. “That aura.” He slouches down in his chair, nestling his cup in his hands.</p><p>“I’m not quite sure what that says about me,” I respond, taking a careful sip of the steaming coffee.</p><p>Elliott shrugs with casual ease. “I guess it says you’re a guy of, you know, specific tastes. Like, who knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to take it. Eh, that or you don’t know how to just enjoy things.”</p><p>I chuckle softly, my eyes on the dark liquid. It smells floral, but the aftertaste is deeper, earthier. “I suppose a case could be made for either option.” I take another draw from my mug, bring my eyes up to meet his. “The coffee is good, by the way. And I’ll admit to being difficult to please.”</p><p>“Knew it. I’ve got a sixth sense for these kinda things. I’m pretty good with people, at least that’s what my mom says. So! What brings you out here? I’d kinda assumed Nat woulda wrangled you into playing the game tonight.”</p><p>“Not for lack of trying. It isn’t quite my flavour of pastime.”</p><p>“Lemme guess. You’re a…” Elliott narrows his eyes, cocking his head to the side. “Reader. I bet you read stuff. But, like, weird stuff.”</p><p>I laugh, and my own unbidden response catches me off guard. It softens any of the nervous edges Elliott might still be carrying. “Weird stuff. And just what qualifies as <em>weird stuff?</em>”</p><p>“I haven’t decided yet. I don’t think you care enough about other people to read non-fiction, no offense or anything. Maybe something escapey. Like those big fantasy series with like dozens of thousand-page books in them. Or maybe just light novels, I dunno.”</p><p>I smile into my coffee, taking it into my hand without raising it to my lips. “Reading is pleasant. Though I prefer botanical pursuits.”</p><p>“Uh… that’s like... plants and stuff?”</p><p>“Yes. <em>Plants and stuff</em>.”</p><p>I glance up at him to see him smiling softly at me. “Huh. That’s… kinda nice. I like that for you.”</p><p>We both turn our attentions to our dwindling coffees and a comfortable silence settles between the two of us. I’m surprised it’s a thing he can manage.</p><p>But I suppose he has been full of surprises.</p><p>
  
</p><p>After a minute or two, a couple emerges from one of the other rooms and heads for the door, whispering to one another.</p><p>“Have a good night!” Elliott calls as they leave. They turn back, wide smiles and each of them waving, before pressing into the cold dark.</p><p>When he turns back to me, I can feel a new tension rising in him, an unasked question lingering. His lips are pressed shut, his shoulders stiff. I sigh and wave a hand towards him.</p><p>“Go on, then,” I say. “Ask.”</p><p>He looks abashed, setting his mug down. “How’d ya know?”</p><p>“Consider it my own sixth sense for recognizing obnoxious situations, generally in order to avoid them.”</p><p>“But you’re not avoiding this one? What makes me so lucky? I was trying to keep my mouth shut and everything.”</p><p>“A feat, to be sure... So what is this question that has you shifting in your seat like an anxious adolescent?”</p><p>He sits up, absently tucking his curls behind his ear, then pulling them back out to fall along the side of his face once more.</p><p>“It’s gonna make me sound like an idiot.”</p><p>“Fortunately, I already think you are one. So you have nothing to lose,” I say.</p><p>“I, uh, I don’t think that’s quite as reassuring as you think it is, guy.”</p><p>“I’m not trying to reassure you.”</p><p>“Hey, right, yeah. I just… Um… Okay, here we go, diving in.”</p><p>“Without the preamble, preferably.”</p><p>“You’re gay, right?” he blurts. His cheeks flush and he sinks back into his chair, trying desperately to maintain the nerve to keep eye contact.</p><p>I narrow my eyes. “Why would you ask that?”</p><p>“Oh, shoot, yeah, I guess that’s maybe rude? Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”</p><p>“Allow me to rephrase. Why would you <em>need to</em> ask that.”</p><p>He stops, and again just looks abashed. This time he drops his gaze, gripping his coffee cup to give him something to do.</p><p>“Uh, I was just, you know. Looking things up online.”</p><p>“What sorts of things.”</p><p>“About sex? And like… uh geez… more rape play kind of… things.”</p><p>“... Ah.”</p><p>“And it said a lot of times it isn’t about, you know, thinking someone is hot or wanting to be with them or even about sex at all, and that it was more about control and power and—” he stops himself, his face growing steadily more flushed. If he could sink into the floorboards, he would.</p><p>I let the words hang in the air, admitting to myself that I enjoyed his anxious spiral. I take a long draw of coffee, continuing to watch him keenly.</p><p>“So you’re asking if I’m attracted to you or if you’re just a hole to be used?” I asked, and I find I’m more amused by it than annoyed. I chuckle softly. “Yes, I’m gay. And yes,” I reach for him, gripping his chin and tilting it up. His eyes lock on mine. “I quite find you to my liking.” The words rumble with hunger. A shiver runs through him. I release him, but I can see him fighting a satisfied smile. I suppress one of my own as I lean back into my seat.</p><p>We fall back into silence, and I wonder if his mind is spinning with possibilities and desire like mine is. If I could I would take him now, use him until he had no question as to whether I found his body appealing.</p><p>“Hey,” he says softly, and I note he’s avoiding my gaze again. “About last night… You woulda stopped, right? If I’d asked you to?”</p><p>My chest tightens, my grip on my mug leaving white knuckles. The fantasies swirling in my mind fade. “You did. And I did.”</p><p>Elliott waves his hand in acknowledgement. “Yeah, yeah, I mean like… <em>stop</em> stop. Not just… change tactics.” He rubs his wrists absently. I’d been trying not to look at the red marks pressed into them...</p><p>I take a breath, pause longer than I should to respond to a question that should only have one answer. Of course I would have stopped. I <em>did</em> stop. The insinuation was insulting. Though… the situation wasn’t quite the same, I admit. He had pulled me out of a spiral of violence, not with a request to stop, just with a plea to pay attention to my own pain.</p><p>Would an entreaty to stop, an admission that I was hurting him, that he didn’t want to do this anymore… I wonder with horror if it would have deterred me or only make me fuck him harder.</p><p>No. I wasn’t that. I’ve faced that, and it isn’t me. It isn’t.</p><p>“I don’t know…” I finally mutter, an admission I hadn’t wanted to make. Hadn’t intended to say aloud. What was it about this man that I keep failing at withholding what I usually keep so tightly sealed?</p><p>“That’s… huh. Okay. I don’t… really know what to say to that.”</p><p>“Neither do I.”</p><p>We fall into silence again, this not nearly so comfortable. It seems an eternity, but finally Elliott taps the table lightly, then stands.</p><p>“Well, I should start working on my close. We’re open for another half hour, though. You can totally feel free to stay. Or leave, whatever.” He grabs his coffee cup, hesitates, then gestures at mine. “You, uh, you want a top off?”</p><p>It sounds less like an offer and more like a request. Even after that, he wants me to stay. I push the mug towards him.</p><p>“I’d like that.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much to everyone who has been regularly reading and commenting! You really make my day. 💖</p><p>Also, I know it probably doesn’t need to be said but just wanna stress the very much fictional, sexual-fantasy-focused element of this fic. I definitely don’t condone or have any desire to excuse anyone who can’t respect someone’s own sexual agency, or even questions if they would stop after being asked. Alex in a fic? Hawt. Alex in real life? NOPE.</p><p>(And apologies to my poor partner who does not understand my kinks but dutifully reads my chapters anyhow lol)</p><p>Now. *rubs hands together* Let’s see if we can’t get ourselves back to some smut, shall we?</p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Mercurial</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I mean, y’all probably don’t need content warnings if you’ve stuck around this long, huh? 😅</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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</p><p>
  <b>Chapter Fifteen</b><br/>
<em>Mercurial</em>
</p><p>I swear I’m not usually this clumsy when I close. But it's kind of disconcerting when a presence like Alex is just <em>looming</em> there, watching everything I do. Heck, even when he’s <em>not</em> watching everything I do, it <em>feels</em> like he is.</p><p>Next thing I know, I’ve spilled an entire mop bucket, miscounted my cash seven, <em>seven</em> times, and dropped the portafilter from the espresso machine into the trash can and had to spend the next five minutes digging through wet coffee grounds and milk cartons and heavens knows what else before finding it nestled at the very bottom of the can.</p><p>And every time I glance over at him to make sure he didn’t notice, I see him looking right back at me with increasing levels of amusement. Or is that derision? Honestly with him the two seem pretty similar and both of them make me a little hard.</p><p>And then all I can think about is how it felt when he was wearing that same expression last night and called me a filthy slut… aaaaand how I kinda want him to do it again...</p><p>And why’s he still here? I thought for sure he’d have gotten bored and left instead of just sitting there while I try and fail at nearly every task I attempt. You know, tasks I’ve done nearly every night for the past two years.</p><p>“That,” Alex says when I finally tell him I’m done and am ready to leave, “Was the least competent display I think I’ve ever seen.”</p><p>“You didn’t have to stay the whole time, ya know. Why, uh, why did you?” I ask as Alex stands, slipping into his coat, and we step into the freezing cold. I start fumbling with the keys to lock the place.</p><p>“Who else is going to make sure you get home in one piece?”</p><p>“You know I’ve been making that walk for like, years?” I laugh. He slides his hand along the back of my neck, pulling me to him, and shudders that have nothing to do with the cold race through my body.</p><p>“Then perhaps I’m simply following you home to ravage you,” he growls into my ear.</p><p>Look, I’m not proud of it. But I can’t stop the moan as he gently squeezes my neck. He laughs into my ear before pulling away, hand still on the back of my neck, and ushering us towards the park.</p><p>I gotta admit, I’m not entirely sure what’s happening right now. Like… between us. He just seems kinda merc… ugh, what’s that word? The red stuff in those thermometers that goes up and down? Eh. Whatever. The point is, he seems kinda all over the place on the “nice to mean” scale.</p><p>It’s kind of exhausting. Not knowing whether he’s gonna be mad at me or annoyed at me or like, genuinely just want to spend time with me… Maybe that isn’t what happened tonight. Maybe he isn’t walking me home to make sure I’m safe. Maybe he does just wanna fool around some more.</p><p>I wish I could get a better read on this guy. People need to use more words. If you use enough words I can generally suss out what they mean. Maybe that’s why I talk so much. Use as many words as I can to try to make sure I’m not misunderstood.</p><p>“Elliott.” His voice is quiet, detached. I feel his hand fall from my neck as he stops walking, and I look back in surprise.</p><p>“You okay?” I ask. He’s staring up into the sky and… geez, how do I describe this? He looks like he’s somewhere else, like something dragged him away from everything he carries inside and just… made it all better. His eyes are soft, remote. He’s smiling. “Alex?”</p><p>“Snow.”</p><p>
  
</p><p>I look up, too. Sure enough, huge, white snowflakes are starting to fall all around us. It’s real pretty…</p><p>Maybe not <em>stop in the middle of the sidewalk to stare</em> kinda pretty but definitely <em>stop in the middle of the sidewalk to watch the angry guy you can’t stop thinking about smile at the snow</em> kinda pretty.</p><p>Alex closes his eyes and inhales deeply, his frozen breath pooling into the air like ink in water.</p><p>“You, uh, you like snow, I’m guessing?” I ask, stepping back towards him. His eyes open, his smile fades, but the peace in his expression lingers.</p><p>“At least until your pretty little mouth ruins the moment, Witt. Come along.”</p><p>He steps past me without so much as a glance, and I’m forced to hurry after him. We walk in silence, or, at least, as much silence as I can muster. My few comments are either ignored or quickly rebuffed. And every once in a while I can see him staring off into the distance, watching the world around us slowly gain a soft layer of white.</p><p>Before long we’re at my house. Alex follows me up the steps, but just as his feet hit the top step, he freezes. His eyes scan the plants on the porch, and his brows furrow in concern.</p><p>“It’s too cold tonight. Does your mother not bring them inside?”</p><p>“Huh. Uh, yeah, now you mention it, she usually does if it gets this cold. She’s, uh, I mean her health is— hey, what’re you doing?”</p><p>He’s already grabbed three pots and is cradling them gently against his chest.</p><p>“Open the door.”</p><p>“Alex, you don’t have to—”</p><p>“If she’s ill, you should be doing this for her without her even asking. It’s a miracle they look as healthy as they do. Open the door.”</p><p>Can you fall in love with a man in an instant because he’s taking care of your mom’s plants? I dunno, who can say. Maybe. I unlock the door, and as I hold it open for him I notice that the dark hallway just doesn’t seem so dark with him here. Doesn’t seem so long.</p><p>I start turning on lights in the living room while Alex brings more plants in, picking out spots he apparently just knows will be best for them. Heck, I’ve lived in this house for most of my life and I couldn’t tell you which direction those windows are facing, much less how much light they would provide.</p><p>Once the last plant is brought in and placed with care, Alex turns to me, his brow tight, his lips thin and thoughtful, surveying his work. “She won’t be upset?” he asks.</p><p>“Uh, I doubt it. With her… well… she just forgets things sometimes. I’m sure she’ll be happy to know someone wanted to help.” I look around at the plants. He placed them so thoughtfully. She usually just kinda clumps them in one spot.</p><p>“You’ll need to help her water them, so none get forgotten. If she has memory problems, I’ll have interfered with her flow.”</p><p>“Uh, yeah. I can do that.”</p><p>He nods with satisfaction. “Well. Good night, then, Elliott.”</p><p>“You’re leaving?” I ask, and I’m not too embarrassed to admit that it sounds a little desperate.</p><p>A corner of his lips twist up. “Why? Is that an invitation?”</p><p>“Uh, yeah, I guess it is.”</p><p>He takes two strides to meet me, backing me into the wall. He tilts my chin up, presses his lips against mine.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“I was hoping it might be,” he whispers, pulling back from the kiss. “You still haven’t let me cum, Elliott. Shall we rectify that now?”</p><p>I laugh nervously, shrinking back. “S-sure.”</p><p>“Then I suggest we retire to your room.”</p><p>He pulls me into his kiss again, gentle and soft everything he hasn’t been to me so far. I feel myself melt into him, hands about to slide up his neck before I stop myself. Historically, touching him without express permission has never quite ended well for me.</p><p>He pulls back and ushers me up the stairs, following a step behind.</p><p>And I know what you’re thinking. You’re a freaking idiot, Witt. Inviting this guy back to your room? After what happened yesterday? After what he himself <em>admitted</em> today?</p><p>Okay, yeah, fair. But he seems… different tonight. He seems like the guy Natalie kept telling us about. The nice but kinda brusque, kinda sad guy who just needs a friend and half a chance. Or a good boning. I mean, I added that last part, she didn’t say that, but you get my drift.</p><p>We’ve barely made it to my room, barely shut the door, when he grabs my arms and pulls me back into him. The softness is gone as he kisses me with surprising ferocity, as if he could swallow me whole. He pushes me back towards the bed, stripping his coat off and tossing it to the floor. Without effort he pulls my coat up and over my head. Geez, I wish I could get it off that easily, I always look like an idiot trying to do it.</p><p>With a final shove, I stagger back, landing on the bed. Alex slowly steps towards me, his hands already lowering the zipper on his pants.</p><p>“I’m in a generous mood,” Alex says, pulling his cock out and pumping it slowly. “Last time my cock was in your mouth, I just needed a face to fuck. But I think I’ll let you suck it properly tonight. Would you like that?”</p><p>I let my attention fall to his shaft, the slow, steady rhythm in which he pumps it. I can feel my own erection grow, longing for his hand to be on me instead.</p><p>“If you’d rather I could put my cock to other uses,” Alex says, stepping closer. “Though I can’t guarantee you’ll find them quite as pleasant.”</p><p>“N-no, I want to,” I stammer eagerly.</p><p>“You want to what?”</p><p>“I, uh, I want to suck your cock. I do.”</p><p>“Then I suggest you stop talking and use that mouth for the only thing it's good for.”</p><p>The words stir something in me, like electricity coursing through me. My own erection presses against my jeans, throbbing. But as Alex looms over me, my mind goes blank for any action other than what he expects of me. I lean towards him, opening my mouth onto his cock, my lips closing on the softly yielding surface of him.</p><p>I take him into me, running my tongue along him. He stands there, solid and unmoving, watching me, judging me. It makes me more earnest, fills me with a desire to impress him, to make him feel good. But geez, I’ve never done this before. I don’t even know if I’m doing it right or not. And he’s not giving me any kind of indication. Just staring with that scowl that drives me wild.</p><p>I squeeze my eyes shut.</p><p>“I want your eyes open, Elliott,” he says darkly. “I want to see my slut struggle to suck a cock.”</p><p>Oh geez. I really just jumped into the deep end with this guy. It was one thing when he was leading. Eh, leading isn’t the right word. Pushing? Yeah, that sounds better.</p><p>I draw my eyes up, tilting my head enough to see his face. His eyes are hungry, an amused sneer playing at his lips.</p><p>
  
</p><p>The angle presses him deeper into my mouth and as he rocks his hips slightly into me, I feel the tip press against the back of my throat. I gag, push through it, sliding my mouth back and forth along his cock, trying my best to keep his gaze.</p><p>“Pathetic,” Alex chuckles, turning his head with amusement. “What good are you if you can’t even make me cum, hmm? Does my little whore need instruction?”</p><p>I pull back, his cock sliding out of my mouth. “S-sorry… I’ve just never, you know, yesterday was the only thing I’ve done before and pretty much all I did then was, uh, <em>exist</em>?”</p><p>I thought my prattling might annoy him but I see a satisfied smirk spread across his lips. “Existing is, indeed, primarily what I require of you.” He reached down for my face, his thumb playing at my mouth, teasing it open, pressing into it. I close my mouth around it instinctually, sucking it with… what’s that word? The condiment? The green one you put on hot dogs? Radish? No, <em>relish.</em> Weird name for something so gross…</p><p>“But,” Alex continues, and I force my mind to pay attention and stop thinking about why relish exists. “If I plan on making use of you for the rest of my time at this abhorrent school, you might as well know how to suck my cock without me needing to rape it out of you.”</p><p>The words draw a moan from me, which makes him laugh. He pulls his thumb from my mouth, dragging my lower lip with it, before pressing his cock against my face.</p><p>“Suck it,” he says softly, watching with partially closed eyes, mild interest at seeing another human debase themselves for his pleasure. I do. “Good. I’m not an unreasonable master, I don’t expect you to take it all in with every stroke. Pump it with your hand if you aren’t going to take it all.”</p><p>I hesitate. Last time I touched his cock, things didn’t go so hot for me. He reaches for my face and to my incredible surprise, strokes it gently. “Such a good little whore. You learn well. But for now, you have my consent to touch.”</p><p>Is it a bad sign that I don’t necessarily trust him to stick to that? That’s probably a bad sign. One of those red flags. But, hey, he’d been consistent about not wanting to be touched. Maybe he’ll be consistent about allowing it once he’s given his permission.</p><p>For someone who doesn’t request any, he sure is big on permission…</p><p>I wrap my hand around his base, gripping it and pumping while I suck him off. It gives me more control as to how deep his cock goes into my throat and… geez… he tastes so good.</p><p>“Harder, slut. Grip it harder,” he said, his voice a low, pleased growl. “Your hands are so weak, you can use more force. And keep your eyes on me.”</p><p>I can see his chest start to heave as I tug harder on him, his mouth opening slightly. I start to take him deeper into my mouth, feeling my cheeks hollow as I suck hard on him. Inching him towards the back of my throat, struggling against the gag reflex.</p><p>“Good…” he breathes, and his hips start to move. I can tell he’s trying to hold them back, trying to let me keep my control. He weaves his hand into my hair but doesn’t grip it, and ends up just clasping his hands behind his back. It’s actually kinda funny, if you think about it, how hard he’s trying to not face fuck me. Kinda sweet, maybe? I dunno, I think my bar is pretty low with this guy.</p><p>A deep rumble sounds in his chest, and I can feel his cock stiffen even more in my mouth.</p><p>“I’m about to cum, little slut. Would you like to taste it?”</p><p>I make a sound of assent. His hips start to rock into me more, the muscles in his neck start to bulge. His lips twist up into a snarl as he stares down at me, his eyes fully focused on my lips around his cock.</p><p>Last time he almost came, yesterday in the bathroom, he got hit with that panic attack. I try to keep my eyes on his, give him something to keep him grounded. His eyes lock onto mine with such an intensity it almost makes me stagger back. And for once it isn’t anger swirling around in them. I guess I’m not smart enough to know what it is. Like… fire but not angry fire. Like he’s staring at something he wants, but maybe not so much in a “piece of meat” way like yesterday, and… I dunno. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking. That innate desire inside of me to be accepted, wanted. That need to perform so that someone will notice me and tell me, yeah, they do kinda want me around.</p><p>Maybe it isn’t that. But maybe I can pretend like it is.</p><p>His teeth clench and he releases a deep, gravelly growl. His hand grips the back of my head and pulls me deep onto him, my mouth wrapped around the base of his shaft. He holds me there, presses my face into his pelvis. I can feel his cock pulse in my mouth as he groans, can feel the hot cum shoot against the back of my throat and drip down. I gag, feel like I’m drowning, try to scramble back but he holds me firm, growls turning into heavy breaths as his orgasm fades.</p><p>He steps back, his cock sliding from my mouth as I start to cough. I bend over, hacking, tasting his thick, salty cum lingering in my mouth. I can hear him laugh softly as he pulls his pants back up.</p><p>“Well done, slut,” he coos, waiting for me to stop coughing before tilting my head up. He gently wipes the corner of my lips. “With a little more practice, I think you'll be quite a useful asset.”</p><p>“That is,” I pant, still catching my breath. “Probably the nicest thing you’ve said to me?”</p><p>He laughs, smacking the side of my face lightly. “And precisely as much as you deserve. Now. What shall we do to-”</p><p>His phone starts to buzz in his pocket. His face twists in irritation, but he pulls it out to check. As he stares at the screen, his eyes quiver and his jaw sets. I can see him swallow thickly as he ignores the call and shoves it back in his pocket.</p><p>He looks down at me, tilting his head softly. “I’m feeling generous, Elliott. And I want to see your pretty face twisted in pleasure as you cum. So tell me, how would you like me to use you?”</p><p>“Why do I feel like this is a trick question?” I ask. His mouth spreads into a smile.</p><p>“It sounds like you don’t quite trust me. Not a bad instinct. But I’m being sincere.”</p><p>He thumbs my chin and slowly draws me to my feet. A single, gentle kiss, slow and deep, before he pulls back. “Call it a fit of euphoria from the orgasm. I want to—”</p><p>His words are cut short again by another round of vibrations from his pocket. He pulls his phone out again, again his expression tightens in… I dunno, anger? No, it kinda feels like how he looked during his panic attacks? Maybe fear?</p><p>That dominant aura fades as tired regret replaces it.</p><p>“Sorry, I… need to take this.”</p><p>“Yeah, sure, of course.”</p><p>He steps away, takes a huge breath, and answers the phone.</p><p>“Good evening, Mrs. Humbert... No, I’m not... No, I’ve already moved.” He starts to pace the room, head down, shoulders hunched. I hadn’t thought it was possible to see him so… cowed.</p><p>And I’m gonna be honest here. I’m trying really really hard not to listen to what he’s saying as I sink back down to the bed. But there’s only so much a guy can do when he’s patiently waiting to be fucked.</p><p>“I know he’s still in the hospital, Mrs. Humbert. There was nothing else I could… No, yes, I understand that… I’d been told I wasn’t permitted to visit him, so lingering around wouldn’t have… No, I’m not blaming you for that, Mrs. Humbert.”</p><p>The voice on the other end of the call starts getting louder and louder, and Alex starts getting quieter and quieter. Before long I can hear a woman’s voice screaming at him, and he holds the phone away from his ear as he rubs his face wearily.</p><p>I can’t make out much of what she’s saying, but one sentiment rings through clear and precise. “You’re a fucking cancer, Alexander, a cancer!”</p><p>He stops pacing. “I know, Mrs. Humbert,” he says quietly. I hear sobs on the other end of the call, quiet words bitterly spoken, and the phone goes silent. Alex doesn’t move, just stands there with the phone still to his ear. I can see him shaking.</p><p>“Alex?” I ask softly, though in the silence that has fallen it sounds like I just shouted it out. I can hear his breathing, heavy and quaking. It starts to hasten, and suddenly with a roar he chucks his phone across the room. It shatters against the wall and crumbles to the floor.</p><p>“H-holy shit!” I gasp, hopping to my feet. “W-what—”</p><p>He turns to me, and what I see makes my heart stop. Pure, cold hatred pours out from him as his eyes settle on mine.</p><p>“A-alex?” I ask meekly, that icy gaze eating through me. “Are you okay?”</p><p>“Take off your clothes, Witt,” he says. It isn’t a growl, just a harsh, cold order.</p><p>“Are you sure you’re alright? Do you need to talk about—”</p><p>I don’t even register him moving. But suddenly he’s grabbing my neck and pulling my face an inch from his.</p><p>“There is nothing I want to hear you say other than <em>yes, sir</em>. Do you understand?”</p><p>“Do you think it’s a good idea to—”</p><p>He releases my neck, pulls his hand back and slaps me hard. I yelp, staggering, but he’s already grabbed the front of my sweater and drags me back to face him.</p><p>“What did I just say?”</p><p>I stare up at him and I can feel my body start to shake. This is… this is just part of it. Just part of the fun for him. He isn’t being serious. It’s just a game. Yeah. I can play along.</p><p>It’s what I tell myself. But anyone looking in his eyes would know it was a lie.</p><p>“Yes, sir,” I breathe. “Um… What if I want you to stop?”</p><p>“Then I suggest you try begging, and hope it doesn’t just make me harder. Now strip.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>“I know its hot for you but it just makes me nervous.” -My very pure and supportive partner after reading the end of this chapter 😂🥰</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Too Far</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For real y’all, read the content warning tags. o_o</p><p>Also several explicit illustrations so, ya know... careful where your screen is turned. (Did I draw these at work in a booth made out of glass and a security camera? Yes. Yes I did.)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter Sixteen</b><br/>
<em>Too Far</em>
</p><p>I don’t move. The dismissal of my question and the following command hang in the air, heavy, pressing against both of us. I can feel my heart pounding against my chest as I draw in shallow breaths, staring at him, unable to look away.</p><p>He’s terrifying, sure. I’ve never felt a gaze like that directed at me. People usually like me well enough. Or maybe just put up with me. One time when I was in his room talking when he was trying to do homework, Gibby said I was like a puppy that wouldn’t stop getting into mischief. You’d want to correct it, but it was just too cute so you gave it snuggles instead. He followed this by a pat on the back, a bone-crushing side hug, and then a firm hint that he had work to do. Gibby is a nice guy…</p><p>But Alex, looking at me the way he is… that look of pure, quiet hate. It’s different than before. It’s like… there’s a wall. Something separating us. Where he looks at me but doesn’t see me. Like he’s fully detached. And something about that is hot. Something about trying so hard every day to be something someone sees… just letting that go is kind of freeing. But I’m honestly more concerned about him right now. And I’m not sure sex is quite what he needs.</p><p>“I don’t know if I want to,” I say, trying to sound firm, trying to stand up straight. I’m a tall guy! You know, average to tall. A perfectly fine height!</p><p>Why does he make me feel so small?</p><p>He steps towards me. He doesn’t touch me, doesn’t hit me. Just stands there, towering over me, expression blank and dark.</p><p>“I don’t believe I asked. Take off your clothes or I’ll do it myself.”</p><p>I’ll process what it means later how much that turns me on.</p><p>I shirk back from him and pull my sweater off, letting it drop to the ground. His eyes slide across my torso, and honestly it would have been better to see hunger and desire. But there’s just… nothing. I slip out of my jeans. He watches, cold and scientific. I hesitate taking off my boxers; I already feel so naked just standing there being analyzed, catalogued.</p><p>His hand swings from out of no where, smacking me with more force than before. I stagger, he grabs me, shoves me back onto the bed. His hands tug my underwear down, pulling them off my legs, baring all of me to him. He grips them in a ball in his hand.</p><p>My breath catches in my throat and I cower below him, naked, feeling more exposed than I’ve ever felt in my entire life.</p><p>My hand touches my face tenderly, and I wince. It’s still stinging, even worse the second time, painful to the touch.</p><p>“A-alex, I don’t, uh, don’t want you to hit me again, okay? Um, I mean, s-sir?”</p><p>He slides his zipper down wordlessly, his erection hard and throbbing, leaning hungrily towards me, the only indication that he wants me. He rolls a condom down along it, slowly, calmly.</p><p>“Alex?”</p><p>I shrink back, trying to decide if this is hot or if I need to leave. Even if I try, I doubt he’d let me. Or maybe he would? Maybe this is just still a game he’s playing and… and not telling me about.</p><p>He grabs my arms, tugging me towards the head of the bed like I was a doll, crawling on top of me.</p><p>“I don’t know if we should do this right now,” I protest again. And this time, he seems to hear. His eyes drift to mine, piercing.</p><p>“Are you telling me to stop?” He asks, his voice deadly, precise.</p><p>“I-I just think we need to talk about—”</p><p>He shoves my balled up boxers in my mouth, gagging the rest of my words. “Should have asked while you had the chance.”</p><p>Okay, I know my hands weren’t restrained or anything. I could have taken them out of my mouth at any time. But it honestly didn’t occur to me that I could. That I had that agency. He presses lube into his hand, rubbing it against me, pressing slicked fingers into me. I gasp, a muffled moan lost in the layers of fabric bunched in my mouth.</p><p>I wish he’d say something. It’s so much worse when he’s quiet. I think about last night. He talked to me, criticized me, demeaned me. But at least I was there. He saw I was there. It felt more like a game.</p><p>He wrenches my legs up against my chest, spreading them, my cock embarrassingly hard, resting on my stomach. His hands grip my thigh, pressing down. The tip of his cock presses against my asshole, and I brace myself for a slow easing in like last time, try to relax my muscles. But he doesn’t give me the chance.</p><p>He forces himself into me, all of himself, in one powerful thrust. I yelp, biting down hard on the fabric gagging me, the cry melting into a sob. My mind is racing to process the different sensations of pain and fullness and arousal. He pushes his full weight down onto my thighs, lifting himself up. I feel like I’m going to collapse under him.</p><p>
  
</p><p>He starts to fuck me, hard, full thrusts that force me to take his entirety over and over and over again.</p><p>He’s staring at me, but he doesn’t see me. I try to mumble something, to ask him to slow down, but any word I try to make is swallowed in the gag.</p><p>I squeeze my eyes shut, try not to focus on the feel of far too much of him ripping through me far too quickly. Find myself unable to focus on anything else.</p><p>I can hear his breathing quicken above me but I keep my eyes shut tightly. I don’t want to see him like this. So detached, so cold. I never thought I would long for the anger burning in his eyes, telling me to shut up, fucking me in a furious rage. At least he was there, at least he was aware of me as he used me.</p><p>His fingers dig into my thighs as he fucks me harder, deeper, tilting my hips more as he shifts. His hips slap against my skin, filling the room with a steady, violent rhythm. The tip of his cock suddenly hits something incredible, and I gasp a moan. The pleasure rolls together with the pain and my gag muffles my cry, my cock throbbing at the sensation of him.</p><p>I can feel waves start to pulse through me as he pounds me, warmth spreading through my pelvis, and I can’t hold back my yelping screams of pleasure, mercifully muffled by the underwear filling my mouth. My cock spasms, my legs cramp, as cum shoots across me, splattering against my chest and face, running hot down my body.</p><p>Alex’s cock gets harder inside of me, and something about seeing me cum, hearing my moans… It folds that cold hatred into something more like before, intense and furious. He leans forward over me, cock buried deep in my ass, and pulls my wrists above my head, gripping them firmly in one hand. His forearm presses against my neck and before I even have a chance to struggle he starts pounding into me again. The angle’s different. And with an orgasm fading, I feel the arousal slipping, too. The meager amount of lube is becoming far too little, and I can feel friction, hot and sharp, as he drags himself in and out of me.</p><p>I try to gasp for air but the gag stops my attempts. I look up at him and realize through gritted teeth he’s growling something, barely audible, with every thrust.</p><p>“You’re nothing. Worthless. Piece. Of shit. A fucking. Cancer.”</p><p>I try to pull against his grip on my hands, but the struggle makes him press harder on my throat.</p><p>With a final, brutal thrust, I can feel his muscles shake above me as his silent orgasm washes over him. He holds his cock deep inside of me as he cums, and I can feel it shudder inside of me. His muscles relax, he lets go of my wrists, he releases the pressure against my neck. In a moment he gets off of me, stands up, and my legs drift down to the bed, cramping at the sudden change.</p><p>He pulls the filled condom off his cock and tosses it onto my stomach.</p><p>“Clean yourself up.” he says, his voice hoarse, quiet, zipping his pants. “You’re a mess.”</p><p>
  
</p><p>I pull my underwear out of my mouth, coughing and rubbing my throat. I look down at my stomach and chest, covered in the evidence of my orgasm and a full condom slowly seeping with Alex’s cum. I carefully sit up, cringing at the rawness left by his fucking.</p><p>I feel like I should say something but… I can’t. I gather the condom in my hand, trying to wipe away as much dripping cum as I can. I toss it in the bin by my desk, grabbing my clothes with my clean hand, and head down the hall to the bathroom. Grateful the second floor is only mine. Horrified at the thought that I could be seen, or overheard.</p><p>I lock the door of the bathroom, drop my clothes to the floor, and lean over the sink.</p><p>What… what exactly just happened? I look up at myself in the mirror, bags under red eyes, hair disheveled, angry red marks on the side of my face. I sigh, tenderly touching my cheek. It’s already starting to bruise… I massage my throat gently, hoping nothing bruises there...</p><p>“That was all… I mean… it was all okay, right?” I ask my reflection. He just echoes the question without offering any real help. He’s a real jerk, sometimes. I heave a sigh, rubbing my eyes. “Yeah. It was fine. I… I mean… I wanted that. Right? And he… was just… ugh. I don’t know what he was.”</p><p>I clean up, Alex’s expression lingering on the edges of my thoughts. That pure, cold hatred that had nothing to do with me, that made me just a… a hole to fuck. And not in the hot way, where it’s just talk and he says it to my face.</p><p>One where he believes it.</p><p>I sniff heavily and realize the corners of my eyes are burning. No… no no no not now. This is fine. You liked it. You wanted it. This is fine.</p><p>I sink onto the edge of the tub, squeezing my eyes shut, running my hands through my hair and bending forward. I can feel tears roll down my cheeks and try to focus on breathing through a throat that feels raw.</p><p>I’m not… not ready for this. I’m not ready for any of this… I should never have gotten involved with him.</p><p>Even as I think it, the image of him fucking me fades, replaced with the way he looked up at the snow. The way he dutifully brought my mom’s plants in.</p><p>It’s glimpses of a man Natalie assured us he was. But… fuck. Glimpses aren’t enough. And I know that.</p><p>I force back the tears, wiping them away, then clean up and pull on my clothes. I head back towards my room, taking a deep breath. I know what I need to say. I just… need to make sure he listens. If he’s even still here.</p><p>I don’t know what I expected to find when I entered that room.</p><p>It wasn’t this.</p><p>He’s in the far corner, near where he’d smashed his phone against the wall. His knees are pulled tight to his chest, curled up into himself, staring at the wreckage of his phone. The icy aura is gone. His eyes look distant but not detached.</p><p>I close the door behind me, lean against it, arms crossed over my chest. He looks small in that corner. How was this the man I had been so afraid of? He looks like he’s… nothing.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“What was that?” I ask, and I force my voice to be calm. Force the rambling that bubbles into my psyche to soften a tense moment to just… cool it.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>He doesn’t answer.</p><p>“Alex.” I press.</p><p>“What. You came, didn’t you?” It's an accusation, but his voice is weak and playing with a derision he doesn’t have the energy to commit to.</p><p>“That isn’t the point,” I say. “Tonight was… different. From before.”</p><p>“You knew what being with me looked like from the second I fucked your face. What more do you want from me?”</p><p>“Look…” I sigh, try to gather all the right words and push back all the wrong ones. It’s hard when the’re about a thousand more wrong ones trying to convince me to use them. “I know it's messed up but I… really like being with you. I like it when you say mean things or punish me for talking too much. That… I dunno, feels like play.” I pause, looking for any kind of reaction, recognition. But he’s just… still. And quiet. “That wasn’t this. What happened just now… it was different.”</p><p>He shrinks more into himself but says nothing.</p><p>“Alex… I wanna be with you, but I want <em>me</em> to be there, too. I felt like you didn’t even see me just now. Like I was nothing. And it felt like you were punishing me for whatever happened on that call.”</p><p>His body tenses at the mention of the call. “You knew what kind of a person I was. You can’t pretend you didn’t,” Alex says, still staring at the broken phone, never looking at me. “If you didn’t want to be used you should have stayed away from me.”</p><p>“That’s just it!” I say, throwing my hands in the air. “I <em>do!</em> I <em>do</em> want you to do those things to me! Even when you go a little too far. I like it. I like… I like <em>you.</em>”</p><p>He looks up at me with a snarl, but I can see the red eyes and the wet cheeks. He’d been crying before I came back... “Don’t say that. Don’t you get it, you imbecile? You heard her. I’m a cancer. As long as I’m here, I’m just going to slowly destroy you.”</p><p>“I don’t believe that.”</p><p>“Why?! What reason could you possibly think I wouldn’t?” He flings his arm to the bed, pointing at it. “I just fucking raped you, you absolute idiot. I didn’t want to hear you ask me to stop so I shoved your fucking underwear into your mouth. And you’re still just here, with… with soft words and… and…”</p><p>I walk towards him without a word and kneel down in front of him. He looks up at me, eyes trembling, fear gripping him, as the realization of what he is, of what he did, descends on him like a load of bricks.</p><p>“I’m never going to stop hurting you,” he says through a muffled sob.</p><p>“Yeah. Maybe you won’t. But fortunately I kinda like it when you hurt me.” I try to smile. It comes off awkward and ill-timed.</p><p>“That’s not what I mean.”</p><p>I sigh and nod. “... I know. And what happened tonight? You’re not going to do it again. Understand?”</p><p>“How do you know that?” He asks weakly, burying his head in his arms, hearing it as prophetic as opposed to a warning. I guess even I don't really know which way I meant it…</p><p>“Look… Alex. I don’t know what this is. What this haze that hangs around your heart is. But I can see it isn’t a part of you. It’s separate, like, uh, like a sauce.” Ugh, geez, Elliott, terrible analogy. You should really stop talking soon… “What I mean is… It’s just covering up the things about you that are true. The heart that Natalie sees.” I reach for him, running my hand along the side of his face. He flinches, but turns into my touch. “And I’m willing to risk a little pain to see that.”</p><p>I can feel his tears run down into my hand as his shoulders start to shake. I sit down next to him, stretching an arm around him. He slides down along me, his head in my lap, as he stops trying to hold it back. He sobs quietly and he just seems so… small. I stroke his hair gently, the way mom used to when I was sad or overwhelmed or angry.</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>I just hope I’m not making a huge mistake.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>THAT ISN’T HOW AFTERCARE WORKS, ALEX.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Kill Devil Hills</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>That, uh, that title will make sense, I swear.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter Seventeen</b><br/>
<em>Kill Devil Hills</em>
</p><p>The thin, blue light of a winter morning barely past black creeps through unfamiliar windows. I blink wearily, my eyes burning, my throat sore. I scan a room that isn’t my own, my brain sluggish as it tries to remember where I am.</p><p>My eyes drift over a small picture frame on a bedside table. I try to bring it into focus with sluggish, fog-covered eyes. A picture of a curly-haired, light amber-skinned woman surrounded by young men who look just like her. A wild-haired boy with a huge grin interrupts the family picture.</p><p>He still looks so much like that little boy in some ways. When his smile is sincere and his heart at ease, that joy absolutely shines through. I haven’t seen much of that since I’ve met him, mostly in stolen glances and rare moments of conversation.</p><p>I have a way of stealing that expression from him...</p><p>Last night. Images flooding back, inexcusable actions from a half-present state of mind.</p><p>God, no… let it have been a dream. Let those memories just be some sick, twisted fantasies buried in the back of my mind. He’ll never talk to me again after this. He <em>shouldn’t</em> talk to me. He deserves someone he can trust. I need to leave.</p><p>I hear a yawn, suddenly aware of the warmth behind me, the arm draped around my middle. It pulls me tight, nestling closer. Elliott…</p><p>I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping I’ll summon up sweeter memories from last night. Maybe it was all just play. But I remember the way I felt. The phone call. The feeling like I was nothing, that I deserved those things she said to me. Feeling belittled and cowed and despised. The need to take control of something just to prove I still could.</p><p>He held me when I cried. I had no right to that. I had no right at all to be here, lying here with him in his room, in a place that should have been safe for him. And I took that from him. I don’t deserve him. <em>And he doesn’t deserve this.</em></p><p>I slip out from under his arm, sitting on the edge of the bed, turning to look at him. His breathing is slow, steady, his body rising and falling peacefully with his own rhythm. His hair is a mess, curls spilling over his pillow. I soak his image in, take in every angle of his face, every curve of his neck, the sharpness of his shoulders and the way his arm drapes so beautifully across his form.</p><p>
  
</p><p>I feel a pull in my chest, a longing, and it doesn’t have anything to do with sex. No, push it down, that isn’t real. It’s guilt. It’s shame. You’re manufacturing these feelings to obfuscate the truth of what you did, the truth of what you are.</p><p>He sighs softly in his sleep, shifting, his hair sliding off his face, baring his cheek. I can see the soft bruise forming on his face. I’d hit him. Twice. My fists clench as I recall it. Remembering how good it felt to see the shock, to see him reel from the blow. I bury that feeling down, press it out of my consciousness. I need to leave. I can’t do this to him anymore. I’m not safe.</p><p>I stand up silently, slowly, careful not to disrupt him. I gather up the pieces of my shattered phone, wondering if there’s any point trying to salvage what’s on it. A memory card inside is surely full of pictures, maybe even intact. Pictures of another life. Pictures I don’t want to remember any more. I throw the phone in the trash can, on top of a used condom.</p><p>I need to get back to campus. It’s barely 6:30am. I can walk back and still have time to shower and meet up with Natalie before classes. And from there I can figure out how best to extricate myself from spending any more time with her friends. With him. She’ll be sad, she’ll fight me on it. But it’s for the best.</p><p>I slip my shoes on, try to slick my hair back, but it falls mercilessly where it will, and I slowly creep downstairs. I'm grateful I woke so early. Grateful for a wordless exit. My feet hit the landing and I step down the hall towards the front door.</p><p>“Well good morning, there!”</p><p>My heart stops at the voice. It’s bright, warm, eager. It sounds so much like Elliott, just… calmer. Toned by years of life and loss. I freeze, turning towards the living room I had just been passing.</p><p>On the opposite end of the room, in an overstuffed chair sitting by a windowsill freshly lined with small pots, is a woman I’ve seen before. The picture in Elliott’s room, the warmly smiling, curly-haired woman surrounded by her sons. She’s sitting in a chair basked in the warm glow of a lamp. A book rests on her lap, a finger pressed into its lines to mark her place, as she watches me with gentle eyes.</p><p>Christ… running into his mother. Right now. This is so much worse than I could have imagined.</p><p>“Don’t escape without having some coffee, first, dear,” she says, setting the book down on her armrest and standing. She nods to follow her into the living room, before walking towards the connecting kitchen.</p><p>Fuck. I can’t just… <em>not</em> follow her. I don’t want to be rude. I at least owe him that… And maybe I can just… keep things short. Excuse myself and insist I have to get ready for school. This will be fine.</p><p>I follow her. The kitchen is well-lit, an eastern-facing window welcoming the faint blue glow of early dawn, overheads filling in the rest.</p><p>It’s a kitchen that has been lived in, one that has been the heart of a family for a very long time. Trinkets sit on windowsills, decorative plates with witty sayings hang in clusters on the wall. Clutter sits forgotten in corners, and a fridge is full of art from a family that hasn’t had children in years.</p><p>“Take a seat, dear.” She gestures to the little table in the corner of the kitchen. “Anything in your coffee?” she asks, pulling a mug from an eclectic collection hanging below a cabinet.</p><p>“No, thank you,” I say, my voice hoarse, cracked. I hadn’t been expecting to need to use it yet, and I’m dimly aware of how much I had cried last night. I sit stiffly in the small wooden chair at the table. It creaks under my weight.</p><p>“A little honey, maybe, for your throat,” she says, squeezing honey into each mug from the head of a bottle shaped like a bear. A gentle clinking of a spoon against ceramic floats through the kitchen as she stirs in the honey, and she joins me at the table, pushing a mug towards me. It’s pink with a crane on it, a souvenir mug spelling out “Kill Devil Hills, NC” in a stiff, cursive font. She leans forward, elbows on the table, cradling her cup in her hands as she watches me.</p><p>“We got that during a vacation <em>years</em> ago,” she says, gesturing to the mug. “Elliott thought the name was so funny when we passed through, he wouldn’t stop laughing. He kept running around chanting it. His brother got it for him from a little souvenir shop on the side of the road.”</p><p>I nod, running my fingers along the cursive, imagining the curly-headed exuberant child in the picture. I wondered which brother had bought it for him. I wondered how long after that moment before they had all started disappearing.</p><p>I wonder what kind of sorrow this woman carries, hidden behind a soft smile as she shares coffee with a stranger.</p><p>She looks like Elliott. Same mess of curls, though hers are pulled into a soft, thick braid that drapes over her shoulder, tinged with grey at the temples. Her face is rounder than his, plumper, but her nose protrudes in the same way, her caramel eyes are big and bright, and her mouth easily melts into that same, wide smile.</p><p>A yellow and orange polka-dot flannel pajama set peeks out from an open white chenille bathrobe. Little yellow ducks line the sleeves and the hem.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“You’re up quite early, aren’t you?” she asks, and I start to think that maybe she has no intention of addressing the fact that I just snuck down from her son’s bedroom at the crack of dawn. “Oh, I haven’t introduced myself, have I? I’m Evelyn, Elliott’s mother. I guess that much is obvious.” She offers her hand. I shake it, its grip firmer than I would have expected.</p><p>“Alex,” I say.</p><p>“It’s so nice to meet you, Alex. You’re nearly as big as Elliott’s friend Makoa, aren’t you? Do you know Makoa?”</p><p>“We’ve met.”</p><p>She nods pleasantly. “He’s a good boy. Takes care of my little Elly. That whole group is good to him. I was just so happy when they took him in. You’d think he would make friends easily, as outgoing as he is, but it can be a struggle sometimes. Hmm... I don’t think I’ve seen you before. You aren’t a part of his little crew at school, are you?”</p><p>“No, not really. I just transferred.”</p><p>“Oh, a newcomer. How nice.” She takes a long, slow sip of coffee, gives it another stir, falling into silence for the briefest moment. I take a sip of my own coffee, just to fill the void of conversation. “You two caused quite the commotion last night, didn’t you?”</p><p>I cough, nearly spraying her with coffee but managing to get it all down. She laughs with a devious tint, reaching out and patting my hand. The touch feels like a shock, and I struggle not to clench my fist.</p><p>“The plants, dear, I heard you bringing in the plants,” she clarifies. Oh thank god. “I turned on my white noise gizmo in the bedroom during the sex.”</p><p>I can feel every drop of blood rush to my face. She just laughs again, gripping my hand and shaking it like she’s chatting with an old friend.</p><p>“Mrs. Witt, I—”</p><p>“I’m only teasing you, Alex. It’s none of my business what the two of you got up to last night. I keep that machine going for when he plays his game with his little friends, it’s always running at night. His voice carries through the house… I’m sure you can imagine. A chatterbox, my boy. He was late to talk, you see, but then he just never stopped!” She pauses, wrinkles her brow, makes a soft sound of exclamation. “Ah! Anyhow. When I got up to see who was moving about in my house so late at night, I saw the two of you kissing, and it was just so sweet. It’s honestly about time, Alex. I’ve been fighting off the women in my Bible study for years who keep trying to set him up with their daughters. A bunch of milquetoast sycophants, every last one of them. Finally I can just tell them he has a boyfriend. That will shut them up well and good.”</p><p>My eyes slowly get wider the more she talks. Elliott comes by the trait honestly, at least. While it feels like a nervous tic for him, she just sounds like she has a lot to say.</p><p>She pats my hand again and finally lets it go. “The Witts are a family of talkers, Alex, you’re going to have to jump in and say something if something needs saying.”</p><p>“I’ll keep that in mind.”</p><p>“Alright. Tell me everything about yourself, sweety. Do you go to Elliott’s school? He hasn’t mentioned you, so you must be new. He talks about everyone constantly,” Evelyn says, leaning back in her seat and crossing her legs comfortably.</p><p>I try to hold back the sigh. I need to get going. I don’t have time to talk to this woman. But… I feel drawn to answer her. She’s so soft and kind and warm, she’s everything a person like Elliott should have in a mother. She’s something I haven’t felt in a long time. Something I long for. The safety of family.</p><p>“I just transferred this semester,” I say, wondering vaguely if I’d already mentioned that. I’m ready to follow it up with <em>’...and I probably should be going, classes start soon...’</em> but for some reason… I don’t want to leave.</p><p>“How exciting, Alex! And what are you studying?”</p><p>“Agricultural Chemistry.”</p><p>“Oh my. A smarty, just like my little Elly. He’s studying to be an engineer, you know. Just like his mom.” She smiles proudly. “And how’d you meet him?”</p><p>I shift awkwardly in my seat. She really has the wrong idea about us. But… you can’t just tell a mother that you aren’t dating her son, he’s just been the target for your sexual aggressions the past two days. He’s just something you’ve used.</p><p>“At the coffee shop,” I finally say. “My friend Natalie introduced us.”</p><p>“She’s the little blonde girl, right? What a dollbaby. So sweet. Always makes a point to stop by and chat every few weeks. She goes to the same school as my Elliott. Do you go there as well?”</p><p>I hesitate. She watches me with polite curiosity, smiling, bringing her coffee up to her lips while she waits.</p><p>“I… yes,” I finally say, pulling my lips into a gentle smile to distract from my hesitation. “I just transferred.”</p><p>“Elliott loves it there. I’m sure you will, too. Are you studying engineering, like him?”</p><p>Elliott had said yesterday that she forgets things… that her health was poor. I had heard but hadn’t registered what that means. Not really. She’s just staring at me, pleasant and eager to find out everything about me. No matter how many times she’s asked.</p><p>“No. Chemistry,” I say softly, trying to keep my expression amiable. I can feel it stiffen, thinking about what it must feel like to watch someone you love so much slowly begin to slip away. Her smile falls along with mine. She forces it back in a meager fashion, but her cheeks flush pink and she draws her big, bright eyes down to her coffee.</p><p>“I’ve asked that already, haven’t I?”</p><p>“It’s fine,” I insist.</p><p>She stirs her coffee absently, the steady clinking eating away at the silence that has fallen. I watch her and wonder what kind of weight Elliott bears, knowing it's happening, seeing it, and being the only one left to take care of her. Knowing that if he doesn’t, no one else will…</p><p>“It’s quite a thing, Alex,” Evelyn says, her voice smooth and quiet, staring into the still swirling contents of her mug. “To still be cognizant enough of myself to realize a mind I used to rely on so much is failing me. I know I cause him a lot of pain, but my Elliott is so good to me… It never should have fallen to him. Four sons. I always thought they would marry off, have children, and I would be surrounded by family in my twilight years. But the twilight years came sooner than we’d hoped. And now it’s just him and me. Barely an adult and he’s already needing to set his life aside to take care of me.” Her shoulders drop, her brows tighten. “He hasn’t admitted it yet, but I know he dropped out of school this semester to take extra shifts at the coffee shop.” Her smile stiffens. She blinks several times over. “It’s hard to watch him sacrifice so much for me. A mother wants to protect her baby, Alex.”</p><p>I don’t know what to say to that. I can feel the pain in her voice, even though she’s trying to push it deep inside. She takes a heavy sigh, then looks up at me.</p><p>“You’ll be good to him, won’t you? He needs someone to take care of him. I don’t think he’s very good at it, himself.”</p><p>I can feel my chest cave in at the words, at the earnest expression. Nothing I have done to him has been good. I grip my mug tightly, try to stop my hands from shaking as I think about all the things I’ve done to that boy since I met him.</p><p>“I will.” I don’t know where the words come from, but I can feel my mouth forming them, feel them tumble out thick and heavy, bearing the weight of the promise. She nods, satisfied, gripping my hand again, a silent thanks.</p><p>“And what is it that you are studying, Alex?”</p><p>“Mom? What are you doing?”</p><p>We both turn to the kitchen’s hall entrance to find Elliott staring at us. His bed head has taken on a life of his own, his slender form draped in sweats and a giant, baggy t-shirt with a pig on it. His feet are stuffed into fluffy slippers with ears and little snouts and small, beady eyes.</p><p>His eyes scan the scene with horror, his sweet beloved mother having coffee with… with someone like me. He quickly masks the expression, pulling it into a dreary smile.</p><p>“Elly-belly, you’re up awfully early, honey,” Evelyn says, and she stands up. “I’ll get you some coffee, baby. You sit down with your boyfriend.” She winks. He smiles weakly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. She reaches up on tip-toes to kiss his cheek, then carefully picks a mug out for him while he slouches into the seat she’d be occupying. His eyes drift to my mug. He chuckles sleepily.</p><p>“Kill Devil Hills,” he murmurs to himself without further comment.</p><p>Evelyn sets a mug gently in front of him, pale with cream, then gives his hair a tousle and a kiss. “I’ll leave you two to chat. I’ll be in my room if you need me.”</p><p>“Thanks, mom,” Elliott smiles. She shuffles off, and we hear a door close.</p><p>Elliott heaves a sigh, rubbing his temple.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” I start. “I was trying to leave and she—”</p><p>“No, that’s my fault, I, uh, I shoulda warned you she gets up early,” he says.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” I offer again, and exactly which transgression I’m apologizing for, I’m unsure.</p><p>“I hope it wasn’t too uncomfortable. I know sometimes conversations can be a little taxing with her. She’s usually fine, but—”</p><p>“It’s nothing.”</p><p>He narrows his eyes as he stares at his pale coffee. “Did she call you my boyfriend?”</p><p>“I’m afraid her bible study is about to hear all about it,” I sigh, my mouth pulling into a grin. “Bold woman.”</p><p>Elliott laughs. “Oh, that’s nothing. When I came out as bi she threw a party. Invited everyone at church and the entire family. Even the half she doesn’t like.”</p><p>I bark a laugh. “Bold doesn’t describe her well enough.”</p><p>Elliott raises his mug to me with a grin. “Evelyn Witt doesn’t hold back. Dyed her hair pink, purple, and blue for the occasion. The bathroom’s still stained with the hair dye. And you can imagine the party wasn’t exactly well-attended. She was so pissed. She’s been wearing a rainbow cardigan to church ever since.”</p><p>I watch him, see that pride and love swelling as he talks about her. My chest aches thinking about my own experience coming out to family.</p><p>It hadn’t been this.</p><p>“She knows you quit school,” I say softly. “You should talk to her about it.”</p><p>Elliot heaves a weary sigh, sinking further into the seat. “Yeah… I thought she might have pieced it together… Thanks… I will.”</p><p>We fall into silence. I can distantly hear music in the background, drifting from Evelyn’s room. I hate how comfortable it is here, how much at home it feels. It’s warm, it’s safe. It’s perfect. I can’t shake the feeling that I absolutely shouldn’t be here.</p><p>I finish my coffee and stand. Elliott glances up, jarred away from whatever thoughts had been swirling in his mind.</p><p>“Are you leaving?” he asks, and somehow it sounds disappointed.</p><p>“I need to get ready for class,” I say. I start to wash out my mug and dry it.</p><p>“Hey. Um… tonight’s movie night with the crew. I don’t know if Natalie mentioned it or not. You, uh… you should come.”</p><p>I turn to him, reticence gripping my body. “Why.”</p><p>“Uh, because it’ll be fun? We take turns picking and it’s Octavio’s week, which means it’s gonna be stupid, and we make popcorn and bring snacks and—”</p><p>“No, I mean… why would you want me there?” I ask quietly. His eyes dart up to mine, suddenly clear of the sleep that had clouded them.</p><p>“... I just do.”</p><p>I nod and slowly replace the now clean mug on one of the empty hooks. The same one Evelyn had taken it from.</p><p>“Fine. I’ll come.”</p><p>The corner of his lip twitches in a sleepy grin, and I leave without another word.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yes, the Kill Devil Hills mug is real, and yes, my best friend bought it for me as a souvenir. 😂</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Lost and Found</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter Eighteen</b><br/>
<em>Lost and Found</em>
</p><p>I get back to my dorm room as quickly as possible, but the walk is longer than I remembered. Or maybe it had always felt too short when it was by his side. I don’t even have time to shower. Just pop by a now deserted room to grab my backpack and schedule, and head to class.</p><p>It’s after my third class before I finally get a break, and I’m already feeling tired and irritated. Every class felt fairly useless compared to the level of education I had been accustomed to. Or maybe that was just the pretention speaking.</p><p>I start to head back to my room, anxious for a shower to wash away the sweat and sex from the night before. I should also try to get in contact with Natalie. We were supposed to have gotten together this morning. As it turns out, destroying my phone in anger isn’t a very helpful or productive act.</p><p>Maybe I can have my roommate get in contact with her for me...</p><p>When I get to my room, a small figure is already waiting outside, arms crossed tightly over her chest, beanie pulled low over messy blonde hair.</p><p>She hears me approach and glances up, worry and hope crinkling her brow. I wonder how many times she’s looked up, hoping to see me, only to be met with disappointment.</p><p>Her eyes meet mine, but her face doesn’t light up like I’m used to seeing. She just deflates in exhausted relief.</p><p>She doesn’t say anything, just stands there, staring, waiting for me to reach her. I think for a moment she’s about to throw herself into me and hug me, like she so often does.</p><p>She punches my chest instead. I barely feel it, but that’s beside the point.</p><p>“Hey!” I object, grabbing her hand as she pulls it back for another punch. “What on earth are you doing?”</p><p>“Where were you?” she gasps, and I can hear the tightness in her chest as she tries to hold back tears. “B said you never came home last night, and you didn’t respond to any of my texts, and when I called it went straight to voicemail!”</p><p>She pulls her wrist free of my soft grip, backing up, shoulders hunched as she draws her arms back over her chest.</p><p>“I was really worried, Alex… It isn’t like you. I thought… that maybe something had happened to you.”</p><p>“Natalie… I’m… I’m sorry. My phone broke.”</p><p>“Oh… “ Her posture softens, but still remains closed off. “Where were you last night? Why didn’t you come back?”</p><p>To say I’ve never lied to Natalie before wouldn’t be true. I’ve told her I was fine when inside I felt like I was being torn apart. I’ve told her she didn’t have anything to worry about on days when I wasn’t sure I could make it to the next morning. But those were lies to comfort her, so she didn’t need to see everything that her friend was.</p><p>Maybe that’s a bigger deal than being faced with the temptation to lie about whose house I slept at last night. But even admitting that truth would paint a picture that I felt was unfair to be painted. One in which Elliott and I had spent a beautiful, tender evening together. It felt unfair to Elliott. Dismissive of what had happened to him.</p><p>It was a picture his mother had already painted, one I’d felt guilty for going along with. He didn’t seem as concerned as me. But the boy was good at masks. Maybe he wore one this morning. Maybe he wore one last night when he stroked my hair while I cried.</p><p>A different mask, a different persona, for everything, sending out decoys for people to chase so the real him could remain unseen. The charming barista, the eager friend, the patient son, the willing fuck toy…</p><p>The thought made my stomach ache, yearn to see the man he keeps hidden. Who he is when he doesn’t have to be anyone else.</p><p>“Alex?”</p><p>Natalie’s soft voice pulls me from my thoughts. I wonder how long I’ve just been staring, trying to decide whether I had any right to tell her where I was.</p><p>“I… look, maybe we can talk about it later. I need a shower, and I need to try to get a new phone before my next class.”</p><p>“Oh. Okay. Well… I’m in labs this afternoon but meet me in my room at six, okay? We can get dinner?”</p><p>“Sure. I’ll be there.”</p><p>She nods, satisfied but still remote. She can feel the gap between us, details left unsaid. Small now, maybe, but it’ll grow. If I keep holding her back, keep dwelling in the darkness that’s been surrounding me. That gap will stretch and deepen until its a chasm, and I’ll lose the only constant in my life.</p><p>She passes me without a hug, and I feel the gap widen. A few steps down the hall she pauses, turns back.</p><p>“I… I know you don’t like any of them,” she begins softly. “But Monday nights my friends and I have a movie night. I… I get it if you want to be left alone tonight, but—”</p><p>“I’ll be there,” I say quickly, trying my best at a reassuring smile. Her expression lifts, her eyes brighten.</p><p>“Oh! Okay! That’s… thanks, Alex.” She waves with a grin and continues down the hall.</p><p>Alright. Double committed. If I try to back out of movie night now, at least I know Natalie will come find me and weakly punch my chest.</p><p>I slip into my room and am surprised to see the roommate, B. They are sitting on their bed, a few books laid out around them. They glance up when they hear the door.</p><p>“So you aren’t dead,” they say simply.</p><p>“Not this time.”</p><p>“You are sparse enough. Without Natalie’s assurance I would think I was rooming with a ghost.”</p><p>I toss my backpack onto my bed, kick off my shoes. “Perhaps you are.”</p><p>“You carry it like a spectre,” B says, gently closing the book before them. I turn to face them with narrowed eyes.</p><p>“I’m sorry?”</p><p>“Your grief. It moans inside of you. It isn’t good to keep it there.”</p><p>I draw myself up to my full height. “I don’t require your thoughts on my life.”</p><p>B calmly gathers their books, slipping off the bed with feline grace. They step towards me, casually standing a little too close, looking up into my face, completely unconcerned.</p><p>“Makoa is not the only one who protects his flock. Watch your step, my friend.” They pat my chest. “I see things he does not.”</p><p>
  
</p><p>They leave the room without another word, bare feet padding silently against the industrial carpet.</p><p>I stare at the closed door for a moment longer than I should have, processing their words. The bulk of Makoa had helped give his warnings weight. But the gravity of B’s presence more than makes up for their diminutive frame.</p><p>What did they mean? <em>’I see things he does not.’</em></p><p>The words send a chill down my spine. Elliott and I had left on good terms this morning, but the past two days’ events would not speak highly of me to his friends…</p><p>I get into the shower, trying to wash away B’s words. Not just the threat. The comment about my grief. It hits too close.</p><p>I have been carrying the weight of Franklin around me, burying it deep, letting it roil and turn sour. Not just the accident in the lab. Everything before that. Everything about him. He was a pressure in my life, a weight bearing down on me in both wonderful and terrible ways.</p><p>I stand under the shower head, closing my eyes and letting the water fall down my face. He was everything I had never tasted before. He was confidence and intelligence and power. The school that shared his name was his domain, and as long as I was by his side, I was untouchable.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>“I’m not sure about this.”</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>“No one’s around, Alexander. It’s fine.”</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>“What if we get caught?”</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>He grabbed my jaw, pulling me into a kiss that made my knees weak.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>“Doesn’t that just make it hotter?”</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>“Franklin—”</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>“If we get caught, then nothing. Trust me. No one can touch us.”</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>His hand slid between my thighs, gripping me. I could feel myself go hard under his touch, leaned back against the wall of the science building as he rubbed his hand against me.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>“Christ this thing is enormous,” he laughed softly, planting kisses at the crook of my neck, sliding his hand into my pants. I gritted my teeth at the touch of his cold hands, it made him laugh. Long, slender fingers wrapped around my growing length, tugging gently.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>“The better to fill you with,” I said through a deep moan. I knew well how Franklin liked to be talked to by now. We’d only been together for a month, and most of that month had been in bed. He relished the power his name provided in real life, but when we were alone he wanted me to slowly strip that power away from him. I was happy to do it, happy to encourage his fantasies. Happy to see the arrogant, charismatic wunderkind stripped down to a helpless, desperate boy begging for my cock. He would play the brat, tease me, goad me into reacting until I had no choice but to pin him to a wall. </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Franklin… He hadn’t been my first, but he’d been my first love. He awakened things in me I had been terrified by, had tried to keep hidden. He coaxed them out, made me feel safe to explore them. He woke a monster, called it by name, and unleashed it on the world.</p><p>On Elliott’s world...</p><p>The memory washes over me, and I lean back against the cold tiles of the shower stall, my hand gripping my cock, brows furrowing as I pump myself, thinking about that night.</p><p>
  
</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>I pressed him against the wall of the science building, thrusting my cock ruthlessly deep in his throat until he threw up, until he begged me for more. I could feel the eyes of someone lurking nearby, watching, doing nothing. Franklin was right. The thought that they saw, maybe even that they enjoyed seeing, was thrilling. I fucked his throat until he gagged on my cum, and he kissed me after and told me how much he loved me.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>I come, biting back a guttural moan, limbs quaking, breath shallow, fighting to hold onto the images of how beautiful he looked with my cock down his throat.</p><p>The memories fade as my muscles relax, as the water of the shower washes away the high of the orgasm. I run my hand up along my stomach to my chest, feel my breathing slow, deepen. The touch summons another memory. I sense it coming, try to push it back into the depths of my mind, but the heat of the water and the touch of my hand on my chest pull me back towards it no matter how reticent I am to go.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>Tied up, naked and powerless on the floor, feeling out of control and anxious and hating every minute as he played the part he was interested in that day, one I usually played for him. I hadn’t been keen to try it, but he asked so sweetly to indulge him. When I told him I was uncomfortable he said that it was part of the play. Every touch of his fingers along my chest felt like cigarette burns, a touch I would have relished in any other situation. I asked him to stop. He told me not to be selfish.<br/>
</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>I sink to the floor of the shower, my entire body shaking, my chest burning as if his fingers still trailed along my skin, wishing I could rip it all off, wishing I could forget.</p><p>But horrified at the thought of losing any moment we shared together. Even the ones I hated.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Movie Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Chapter Nineteen</b>
  <br/>
  <em>Movie Night</em>
</p>
<p>Renee and I have been sitting in silence for the past fifteen minutes. We had attempted to exchange a few words of idle small talk, but that faded within a minute or two. And after five, the silence had stretched for far too long to think of breaking, so… here we sit.</p>
<p>At dinner, Natalie had managed to spill gravy on her beanie, which had been sitting on the table. She’d said she needed to wash it before movie night. She spent five minutes looking for detergent, another five scrubbing it clean in the sink, and a few minutes ago we heard the blow dryer start.</p>
<p>Renee finally sighs and checks her phone.</p>
<p>“We’re gonna be late!” she calls, and for a voice so smooth and deep it seems to carry just fine into the bathroom. “Is this really that important?”</p>
<p>“I almost got it!” Natalie calls back.</p>
<p>“She’s a mess,” Renee laughs softly. “Has she always been like this?”</p>
<p>“If I’ve learned one thing about Natalie,” I begin, leaning back into her desk chair. “It’s that she is purely Natalie. She’s the same little girl I met back in primary school. Normally I would say people who never change stagnate, but perhaps she was simply born perfect.”</p>
<p>Renee laughs again, and her eyes light up. “You have clearly never lived with her.”</p>
<p>Natalie bursts from the bathroom, beanie affixed on top of her head, wide smile spreading across rosy cheeks. “Done! How’s it look?”</p>
<p>“It looks like any other beanie you could have worn, except it took you an hour to get it that way,” Renee says, flashing a grin.</p>
<p>“It was not an hour,” Natalie pouts, tugging her hoodie back on. She glances at me with uncertainty. “Was it?”</p>
<p>“Just about,” I tease, standing and twisting her beanie. She yelps, Renee laughs, and for the first time since I’ve arrived here I feel like I’m part of something as opposed to an outsider. The feeling catches me off guard. It feels… nice. Maybe tonight won’t be so bad. “Come along, you two. If I have to sit through some random movie tonight, we may as well get things started.”</p>
<p>Renee slides off her bed, straightens Natalie’s beanie with a kiss, and we head down to Makoa’s room, a floor above Natalie’s.</p>
<p>It is not difficult to find, and I’m immediately aware of just how much everyone on this floor must hate this group.</p>
<p>We can hear the laughter and the shouts from the moment we step out of the stairwell. As we grow nearer it grows louder and my chest starts to tighten, my feet heavier with every step. As I lag further behind Natalie, she stops and waits, winding her hand into mine.</p>
<p>“You okay?” She asks, one hand gripping mine, the other delicately brushing my arm.</p>
<p>“Fine, it’s just…”</p>
<p>“Loud,” Renee offers. “Overbearing.”</p>
<p>“I would like you to know, Natalie, that I did not say any of those words. But yes,” I say, a sardonic smile twisting my lips as Renee winks at me.</p>
<p>“They’re a pile of idiots, but they’re good idiots,” Renee offers. “Give them a chance; you get over the noise eventually.”</p>
<p>“It… isn’t so much about giving them a chance,” I say gruffly.</p>
<p>“He gets panic attacks sometimes,” Natalie offers. She squeezes my hand a little tighter.</p>
<p>“So do I,” Renee says. And for what feels like the first time, she looks directly at me. No barrier of Natalie buffering our conversation. Just her and me in a moment of connection. “Loud noises. Too many people. I get it. Feels like it's pressing in on you. But… they’ll feel like family if you let them.” She nods to the direction of the noise. “Till then, we can claim the futon in the corner. It’ll be just us three on it, you can have the corner against the wall, and I’ll smack Octavio when he gets too loud. Sound good, Nox?”</p>
<p>I sigh and nod. “That sounds fine… Thank you.”</p>
<p>“Just paying it forward. Elliott did the same for me when I was still getting used to everybody.”</p>
<p>The mention of him sends a jolt through me. “Is that so?”</p>
<p>“I know he comes off as an idiot loudmouth with too little brains behind that pretty face, but he’s got a surprising amount of emotional maturity to go along with it,” Renee explains as she starts to usher us forward.</p>
<p>It hadn’t taken long for me to come to the same realization. I wonder how many people actually give him that chance?</p>
<p>With Natalie at my side and Renee in the lead, we finally arrive at Makoa’s room. It’s fairly packed with a mix of some people I’ve seen before, back in the coffee shop, and a few I haven’t.</p>
<p>Makoa and a tall Black woman with cropped hair sit on his bed, Ajay and a Latina woman have claimed the corner futon, Octavio is in his chair in front of Makoa’s desk, and B sits alone on the unused bed.</p>
<p>All eyes turn to us as we enter. A chorus of greetings roll around the room.</p>
<p>“Ajay, Loba, off the futon,” Renee says, striding in without greeting.</p>
<p>“And why’s dat? I just got comfy,” Ajay says, slouching deeper into the futon as if to prove a point.</p>
<p>“I thought seating was first come, first serve,” the other woman, who I assume must be Loba, says, crossing her legs defiantly.</p>
<p>“Calling in a favour, ladies, now up,” Renee insists.</p>
<p>“Please, guys?” Natalie pipes in, she and I still lurking in the doorway. Ajay sighs but throws her hands up in defeat, hopping up and sitting on a folding chair by the guy in the wheelchair. Loba rolls her eyes but as she passes Renee, points a finger in her face.</p>
<p>“I want pick of the loot next time we play.”</p>
<p>“I thought you didn’t play anymore?“ queries the Black woman with the cropped hair.</p>
<p>“I guess I changed my mind,” Loba says with a grin, scooting up on bed next to B.</p>
<p>As Natalie and I head towards the couch, the cropped-hair woman gets to her feet. She offers me her hand.</p>
<p>“Don’t think we’ve gotten a chance to meet. Anita, Bangalore in chat. Alex, right?”</p>
<p>I reach for her hand to shake it but she grasps my forearm. I look down, a little taken aback, but managed to mumble out, “Nice to meet you.”</p>
<p>“Can I get ya anything to drink?” Anita asks, hand still gripping my forearm.</p>
<p>“No, thank you, I’m fine,” I say, tugging my arm back in as casual a way as I can.</p>
<p>“Who brought drinks?” Renee pipes up.</p>
<p>“I did,” B responds, glancing up from a book.</p>
<p>Everyone starts discussing who brings the best drinks versus snacks, and arguments ensue. Natalie ushers me back to the futon, and as we settle in, I realize Renee was right. This corner, with only Natalie by my side, does make the chaos around me feel a lot more manageable. I settle into it, adjusting a pillow at my back, focusing on my breathing, on the soft warmth of Natalie beside me. She leans her back against my arm, stretching her feet onto Renee’s lap, laughing at something someone said.</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>And I suppose I can see the appeal of this. A group of friends just surrounding themselves with one another. Some are in the middle of the chaos, like Ajay and Octane and Makoa, adding to the volume. Others find their safety in the corners and soak in the social warmth without feeling the need to participate, like B and Renee.</p>
<p>It’s loud, but it slowly becomes less grating, and I realize I don’t have to actually pay attention to everyone when there are several cross conversations happening at once anyhow.</p>
<p>“We should probably start the movie soon, yeah?” Octavio pipes up, maybe half an hour after we arrived. He withdraws a DVD from the bag on his lap and tosses it to Makoa.</p>
<p>“Elliott’s not here yet,” Makoa says, glancing to the door, as if saying his name might summon him.</p>
<p>“Anybody heard from him?” Anita asks. Waves of heads shaking.</p>
<p>“He’s been skipping out on us a lot lately,” Ajay sighs.</p>
<p>“I think he’s seeing someone on the sly,” Octavio pipes in. “I saw him at the convenience store today buying condoms.”</p>
<p>“There is no way that boy knows what to do with condoms,” Loba chuckles.</p>
<p>“You seen da way he flirts with customers at da coffee store? He gotta be getting some, don’cha think?” Ajay muses.</p>
<p>“I <em>have</em> seen him flirt, which is how I <em>know</em> he’s not.” Loba responds.</p>
<p>“This is no one’s business,” B says with a grunt.</p>
<p>“Does anyone have him in any of their classes this semester? I haven’t seen him on campus all day,” Natalie says thoughtfully. Another wave of shaking heads. I suppose he still hasn’t told them. Idiot.</p>
<p>“He said he’d be here.” I don’t realize I’ve said it until everyone turns to me, narrowed and confused expressions painted on their faces. I can see gears turning everywhere, and a few clicking into place.</p>
<p>Makoa smiles, but it's thin and forced as he watches me closely. “Then we wait, yeah?”</p>
<p>Octavio makes an annoyed groan but quickly recovers as he starts to tell Ajay about the movie he picked. The conversation picks up again, and Natalie suddenly flops back, head plopping into my lap, looking up at me. Renee, who had been absently rubbing Natalie’s feet, glances over with an upticked brow.</p>
<p>“Hey Alex?” Natalie says, her voice hushed. I look down at her with amusement.</p>
<p>“What are you doing?”</p>
<p>“It was easier than turning around,” she grins. “You never told me where you were last night. You said you would.”</p>
<p>I can feel that anxiety rise again. I’m not ready to talk to her about it. And certainly not now. Not here. “Later, Nat.”</p>
<p>She tries to pout but sincere concern creeps in more strongly. “Okay… You’re not in trouble, are you?”</p>
<p>“Quit pestering him,” Renee says softly, stroking her leg. I shoot her a grateful glance. I’m beginning to like her more and more.</p>
<p>“Ugh. I never should have introduced you two,” Natalie sighs. “Now you’re just gonna gang up on me.”</p>
<p>But she smiles. Because knowing your best friend and your girlfriend get along is, I imagine, a feat she wasn’t convinced would happen so easily.</p>
<p>A cascade of beeps and tones dance around the room, and everyone pulls their phones out nearly at once. My new phone buzzes in my pocket, as well.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Mirage:</strong> Hey guys! Running late! You can start without me!</p>
</blockquote><p>A moment later, while everybody starts getting the movie ready, my phone, and mine alone, buzzes again.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Mirage:</strong> Sorry, alex, I got roped into something at work. I get it if you dont still wanna go.<br/><strong>Alex:</strong> I’m already here with Natalie.<br/><strong>Mirage:</strong> Oh!<br/><strong>Mirage:</strong> Cool!<br/><strong>Mirage:</strong> Itll be, like, 30 minutes, tops.<br/><strong>Alex:</strong> See you then.</p>
</blockquote><p>A few seconds pass, and another notification.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Mirage:</strong> Save me a seat? :)<br/><strong>Alex:</strong> Yes</p>
</blockquote><p>Natalie is staring at me warily.</p>
<p>“Who are you talking to?” She asks, trying to peer at my phone. I stash it in my pocket.</p>
<p>“No one,” I say.</p>
<p>“Hmm… The kind of no one who you spent last night with?”</p>
<p>Renee reaches her arm around Natalie, sliding her hand over her mouth tenderly. Natalie mumbles out a protest but doesn’t attempt an escape.</p>
<p>“And we’re all done with that topic now,” Renee says, then glances over Natalie’s head at me. “I really just can’t take her anywhere.”</p>
<p>“Alright, everybody! Lights are goin’ off!” Makoa bellows, heaving himself off the bed and over to the light switch, shifting the brick serving as a door stop so the door is just open a crack. “Octavio, you wanna tell the kids what you picked for us today?”</p>
<p>“Yeah! <em>Danger!! Death Ray</em>! It’s about—” Octavio starts, before Ajay cuts in.</p>
<p>“How ‘bout we just play it? Before he spouts off the entire plot?”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t gonna say the <em>whole</em> plot…”</p>
<p>“Ya were and ya know it,” Ajay scolds.</p>
<p>With a little fiddling, Makoa begins projecting a very clearly ‘60s spy film onto his room’s wall. Snacks are passed around, Natalie shifts so she’s snuggled up against Renee, and I can feel the tension in my muscles slowly ease.</p>
<p>Maybe this isn’t quite so bad.</p>
<p>Well, the social aspect, at least. The movie is very quickly shown to be quite awful.</p>
<p>It’s about a half hour in when the door creeps open and Elliott peeks in.</p>
<p>“Sorry! Sorry, guys, sorry!” he whispers, shutting the door behind him.</p>
<p>“Don’t worry, you’re not missing much,” Anita sighs.</p>
<p>“I wasn’t supposed to work, but—”</p>
<p>“No talking over the movie!” Octavio interjects. Elliott’s shoulders hunch, puts his hands up in apology, and eyes slowly adjusting to a dark room scan his surroundings. He spots me in the corner, and I can’t quite put into words how it feels when he passes perfectly fine spots on the bed with B and Loba and picks his way across the entire room to me.</p>
<p>“Hey Elliott!” Natalie whispers.</p>
<p>“You guys got the freak out futon? Sweet,” Elliott whispers back with a grin.</p>
<p>“I booted Ajay and Loba,” Renee says.</p>
<p>“Shhh!” Octane hisses desperately.</p>
<p>“Mind if I sit with you guys?” Elliott asks, mostly directed at Renee and Natalie.</p>
<p>“Your ass is small, you can probably squeeze in,” Renee offers, starting to shift to the side.</p>
<p>“Don’t bother,” I whisper, and start to stand. Elliott’s face falls.</p>
<p>“You’re leaving?”</p>
<p>“Just sit down,” I say, grabbing his arms and pressing him down into the couch. Natalie chuckles. Renee watches with keen eyes.</p>
<p>I settle myself down onto the ground, my back resting against the futon. Elliott pulls a leg under him, his other leg pressed against my shoulder. Renee chuckles softly to herself.</p>
<p>I don’t deserve this. I know I don’t. I don’t even understand why he’s letting me do it, why he’s still speaking to me. But… even though I’ve touched nearly every inch of him, this is different. Something about these little touches, the graze of his leg against my shoulder, it feels so much more thrilling.</p>
<p>I lean my head back, without intent laying it against his tucked-in leg. The accidental touch startles me, I straighten up. He presses his other leg against my side, and I feel fingers reaching for me, laying softly against my shoulder, as if ushering me back. I lay my head back against him again, and feel his fingers start twisting through my hair, grazing my scalp, running along my ear.</p>
<p>The touch doesn’t hurt, doesn’t feel like a fire burning through my skin. It leaves trails of shivers that spread through my body, its tenderness so casual and freely given. I close my eyes as he plays with my hair, brushing it back, gathering it up into a pony tail, shaking it loose, doing it all over again.</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>Movement to my left, and I notice Renee is pulling out her bun, shaking loose her own hair, and she hands the hair tie to Elliott. He grins sheepishly as he takes it, twisting it into my hair, smoothing out the flyaways.</p>
<p>I’ve never worn my hair up before. But the way it pulls slightly, the way his fingers run along the edges of my ears when he tucks stubborn strands behind…</p>
<p>I think it might be everything I’ve ever needed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Marshmallows</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter Twenty</b><br/>
<em>Marshmallows</em>
</p><p>“Why do we put you in the rotation to pick movies,” Anita sighs as the credits start to roll, reaching over to flick on the lights. Fluorescents shiver to life and flood the room with cold light.</p><p>“Ey, give us some notice next time!” Ajay groans, blinking furiously against the bright light.</p><p>“I really liked it, Octavio,” Natalie smacks, leaning up from Renee’s lap, where she had been sleeping soundly for at least the past half hour.</p><p>“At least one of you has taste,” Octavio grins, smacking Ajay’s arm. And for a second I think his eyes latch onto me, but realize he’s looking at Elliott. “Hey Mirage! Thanks for showin’ an interest, guy.”</p><p>I shift to glance behind me and see Elliott sound asleep, his legs curled up behind me, leaning into the wall.</p><p>“That’s your cue, brudda, if Elliott ain’t even entertained, it’s a flop,” Makoa laughs. “We gonna let him sleep?”</p><p>“He is much quieter this way,” B says with a tilt of the head. “He also looks very cute.”</p><p>“No one sleeps during movie night,” Natalie yawns, still rubbing her eyes. She slips her feet out from under him, where they had been buried for warmth, and gives his butt a little bunny kick. He jostles awake, looking around with bleary eyes.</p><p>“Wha- no, yeah, I heard. Wait, did someone say something?” he mumbles, his voice groggy. Octavio starts to laugh.</p><p>“Oh let the kid sleep. I’m sure he’s been busy today,” Makoa says. “Classes go okay, bud?”</p><p>“Yeah, no one saw you around today, you good?” Ajay asks. Elliott stiffens, sitting up straight, one of his legs returning down to my side, pressing against me absently.</p><p>“Oh, uh… yeah, all good. Everything went super good, great even. Can’t complain, pretty much a, yeah, a solid day,” he blathers.</p><p>I nudge his leg, trying to encourage a little truth out of him. The moment’s right for it. He tries to ignore me.</p><p>The motion, however small, doesn’t seem to go unnoticed. The proximity of our seating arrangement, while having mostly been missed during the movie, is now becoming painfully clear. Makoa and B are both looking at me with darkened gazes.</p><p>“Well I guess we know who the condoms were for,” Loba laughs casually.</p><p>“Don’t be silly, Loba,” Natalie laughs uncomfortably, clearly thinking it's a joke (albeit one in poor taste). Elliott flushes bright red, Anita and Makoa both hiss Loba’s name. Natalie’s expression goes blank. “Wait… Alex, is that where you were last night? Are you and Elliott—”</p><p>She’s cut short by Elliott getting to his feet and stiffly striding out of the room, head down, muttering something that sounds like “bathroom.”</p><p>As he slips out the door, Makoa heaves a sigh. “Wasn’t funny, Loba,” he says. She shrugs, unphased. Makoa looks back at the closed door and shakes his head. “I better go check on him.”</p><p>“I’ll go,” I say, getting to my feet without waiting for a response. As I pass Makoa, his hand grabs my arm. A burning sensation spreads at his touch. I clench my fists, fight to remain calm, suppress it, ignore it. Don’t make a scene.</p><p>“You good?” Makoa asks, his voice rumbling like an earthquake.</p><p>To anyone it might seem a query as to whether I am, myself, okay. I know better, can better see the dark look he shoots me, eyes filled with warning under heavy brows.</p><p>“I know,” I say simply, responding to the warning, not the words. I try to keep my voice steady, suppress the growl. He nods, but that look of warning never fades as he releases my arm.</p><p>I slip out the door, but there’s no sign of Elliott. I work my way down the hall, glancing down adjacent halls and study rooms, and finally catch sight of him in a nook set aside for vending machines. He’s standing in front of the snack machine, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes staring blankly at blinking lights and brightly coloured wrappers.</p><p>He doesn’t look over when I stand near him, leaning against the adjacent machine. I see him suck in his lips.</p><p>“I, uh, I guess they were talking about me tonight?” he asks, trying to sound casual.</p><p>“A bit,” I admit.</p><p>“What’d, uh… what’d they say?”</p><p>“Does that matter?”</p><p>He laughs softly, devoid of any mirth. “A little.”</p><p>“They were wondering why you hadn’t been around. The one in the wheelchair—”</p><p>“Octavio.”</p><p>“Octavio. He saw you buying condoms. It fueled rumours.”</p><p>He runs his hand through his curls with a sigh. “Oh geez. That jerk. I mean, he’s a nice guy, I love him and he’s fun and all, but man, no tact. I, uh…” He glances over at me for the first time, freed from the draw of saturated fats and sugar. “You always just pull one out of thin air, like some kind of magic sex trick, and it’s pretty neat. I just wanted to be ready in case, you know… in case things happen again.”</p><p>“Is that something you even want?” I ask, and now it's my turn to avoid eye contact. He hesitates longer than I had hoped he would. But not as long as he should have.</p><p>“Yeah. I mean, I think so. I mean, I do, it’s just… geez. I dunno.” He stops and for a second I think he’s done, but he finds his voice again. I suppose I can always count on Elliott to find his voice, when I’m not gagging it from him… “You’re just… You’re like a whole thing, ya know? Like this <em>presence</em>. Like a train that I know I should dodge every time I see you but I just… <em>can’t</em>. Does that make any sense?”</p><p>“Not especially.”</p><p>“Yeah. I know…”</p><p>We fall into silence again. I steal a glance at him, but he’s staring at his feet.</p><p>“I shouldn’t want to be with you,” he says softly. “Every time I’m around you, you mess up. Real bad.”</p><p>I clench my jaw, can feel my neck get hot in shame. The words are more generous than I deserve.</p><p>“I mean, you haven’t even given me any reasons to not just… you know, just take off and run as far away from you as I can. But then you’re there again. Like… you know that story about the kids and the marshmallows?”</p><p>I snort. “I beg your pardon.” He looks up at me with an earnest expression.</p><p>“You know, that science thing where they were all, <em>’Hey kids, here’s a marshmallow. You can eat it now but if you wait till we come back then you get</em> two <em>marshmallows.</em>’ You know, that one.”</p><p>“What, exactly, is the marshmallow in this scenario,” I query, raising a brow.</p><p>“I guess I’m the kid and you’re the marshmallow? Wait, no, cause there’s potentially two if I wait but that doesn’t make sense… Geez, I don’t think I could handle two of you… Somehow you are a marshmallow that I can’t resist eating right now even if more marshmallows might show up later? That… ugh, that isn’t quite what I mean. Look, it’s not a perfect metaphor but the point is whatever the two marshmallows are I’ll never know because I can’t help myself from eating the… first… one? And maybe I should give you the chance to become two marshmallows? But maybe I’m supposed to make you into two? Look, I don’t know, it made sense in my head…” He rubs his temple as if the effort had been too taxing.</p><p>I suppress a sudden urge to press him against the wall and do things to him that would distract him from such trying thoughts.</p><p>But I know that is an unwise decision. Whatever is happening now… we need to see it through. No matter how long I have to hear him talk about marshmallows.</p><p>“Back at Humbert,” I begin, my voice catching in my throat. Saying the name aloud, going back there… it’s harder than I think it will be. “I was dating someone. We’d been together for two years. I... loved him.”</p><p>Elliott smiles, and I don’t think I realized a smile could look so sad. “Yeah? What was his name?”</p><p>“Franklin.”</p><p>“Isn’t that the kid who got hurt in that explosion?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Oh… Is he okay?”</p><p>“... I don’t know. They won’t… ugh, it doesn’t matter. What happened was… it was my fault. I suppose not in reality, but we’d fought. He’d been angry. He was working with chemicals he didn’t truly understand or appreciate, in a lab he shouldn’t have been in. But part of the thing about Franklin was he was untouchable. His family founded the school. He knew he shouldn’t have been there, but he also knew he could never get in trouble for it. But that’s… that’s not the point.”</p><p>My voice fades as I think about Franklin and myself, what our relationship was. I force myself to continue.</p><p>“I thought it was love. It felt like love. But looking back…” I look down at my hands, flexing them in and out of fists. “I think we were bad for each other. I think we stoked one another’s worst impulses. He gave me control but never demanded restraint. I would bring conflict into the bedroom and he taught us both to never hear <em>’no’</em>. If I’d paid attention to what we were becoming… If I’d been on the outside looking in… I would have seen it for what it was. There was this toxic cloud hovering over us constantly. We were choking in it but for some reason that just made us cling to one another more and hunker down, never trying to simply move out of its path.”</p><p>I remember how Franklin looked on the floor of that lab. My amputated fingers twitch at the memory of grasping glass, struggling to get to him.</p><p>I sigh, shaking my head. “Elliott, I… I know it’s still here. I can feel it. I’m not trying to excuse what I’ve done to you. But if you get closer, you’ll only get pulled into it, as well. I don’t...”</p><p>My breath catches, my voice cracks. I look up at him, see his soft eyes staring back at me, waiting. Listening. I squeeze my eyes shut again, bow my head, unable to hold that gaze. Trying to find the words I want to say. Trying to tell him he needs to leave. He needs to run.</p><p>I feel a warm presence before me, but I can’t bear to look. Feel breath on my face, warm and sweet, fingers creeping along my chest. Soft lips meet my own, fitting gently between mine. I keep my eyes shut, hoping if I never look, this moment might never end.</p><p>
  
</p><p>I breath him in, bitter coffee and warm cinnamon flooding my senses. I want to touch him, want to pull him tightly against me, but I’m terrified that if I open my eyes, he’ll be gone. Just some figment of my imagination, bred by guilt and lust and something more.</p><p>He pulls away and drags my heart from my chest with his lips. I force my eyes open and he’s looking up at me, eyes shimmering with hope and fear and comfort and that same something more.</p><p>I expect him to say something as he gazes up at me. He always has something to say, at least when given half an opportunity, even when nothing needs be said. But he just tilts his forehead towards me, pressing it against my chest, hands gripping my shirt.</p><p>“Why aren’t you saying anything?” I ask shakily, trying to laugh. “Elliott?”</p><p>He doesn’t look up, just stands there, head pressed against my chest. “Look…I know you think you’re gonna hurt me,” he says, his words burying themselves in my chest. “And honestly? That kinda scares me, because I think you’re right.” His hands grip my shirt tighter. “So what if I put myself in your hands, and promise to help you figure out how to get control and, uh, what was it you said? Restraint? What if we found that together. What if I walked into that cloud thingy and I showed you how to get back out?”</p><p>He takes a step back, still clutching my shirt, pulling his eyes up to meet mine.</p><p>“You think to be my Orpheus, guide me back out of Hades?” I ask with a smile.</p><p>“I’m not gonna pretend to understand that one,” Elliott shrugs meekly. “But yeah, sure, I’ll be your, uh, Orfus? Orifice?”</p><p>I chuckle to myself, raising a hand to stroke his unbruised cheek. “Yes, though that’s something else entirely, my dear.” My eyes draft down to his deliciously parted mouth, confusion twisting his face so sweetly.</p><p>I pull my mind back to the present. His offer. To be my guide out of the haze. I shake my head. “No, Elliott. It isn’t your responsibility. You shouldn’t have to bear that weight,” I murmur. His shoulders already sag so much. He’s already carrying more than someone so young should.</p><p>“Dude, I’m super buff and strong, I can totally do it. I can lift dozens,” he says, a dopey smile spreading across his face.</p><p>“Dozens of what?”</p><p>“Pounds.”</p><p>“I see,” I laugh. My laugh fades, my thumb runs along his cheek again. “What if you come to find me and you can’t find the way out?”</p><p>“I never liked hypotheticals,” Elliott muses. “So maybe you should just kiss me already, you dummy,” he says, pressing me back against the vending machine.</p><p>And I stop holding back. I let myself believe that this is happening. That it <em>can</em> happen. That I can feel this way about someone again. That someone would risk themselves to find me, to guide me back out of the land of the dead. I grip his body against mine, pulling him into my kiss. His arms wrap up around my neck, pressing as much of himself against me as he can. He tastes different, this man who is giving me every part of himself, freely, even though I have shown time and time again I can’t be trusted with him.</p><p>He tastes like home, feels like home, smells like home. Everything that is safety and comfort is wrapped up inside the man wrapped up in my arms.</p><p>“Gah! You’re gonna squeeze me to death, cool it on the squeezing,” Elliott gasps, filling my mouth with his warmth. I laugh, loosening my hold on him. “So, uh… so what now?”</p><p>“Now?” I repeat, gently stroking his hair away from his face. I don’t think I’ve ever touched his hair without the intent to use it as a grip. It’s soft. “Now you should tell your friends why no one has you in any of their classes. They’re worried, Elliott.”</p><p>“Or we could just go back to my place,” he offers hopefully. I laugh, hands drifting to his ass and grabbing him, pulling him roughly against me as I feel myself harden at the thought.</p><p>“Talk to your friends. And then perhaps I’ll reward you later if you’re very,” I kiss the corner of his lips. “Very,” a kiss just below his jaw that makes him shudder. “Good,” I growl the last word in his ear, sucking at his lobe and nipping it gently. He melts in my arms with a soft moan.</p><p>“You drive a hard bargain,” Elliott laughs. “Alright, I guess let's go face the music.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Explanations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter Twenty-One</b>
  <br/>
  <em>Explanations</em>
</p><p>I’m not ready for this. I don’t know why it’s so scary, but it’s just <em>so scary.</em> Telling them shouldn’t be a big deal! Lots of people take breaks. Breaks are good! There’s nothing to be embarrassed about!</p><p>This door isn’t even that scary. Turning that handle? <em>No. Big. Deal.</em> I’m a Witt! Witt’s aren’t scared of doors. Doors are <em>nothing</em> for us. I could break it down if I wanted to. Doorfighter Witt, that’s what they call me. Kicking down doors and—</p><p>“What in Christ’s name are you doing?” Alex asks, irritation coating his words as I stand frozen in front of Gibby’s door.</p><p>“Hyping,” I say, staring the door down.</p><p>“Do I need to throw you in there myself?” Alex asks with a dark twist of his lips, grabbing my arm and tugging me towards him. The return of that roughness after a moment so tender makes me shudder in all the best ways. Look, he’s got a bit of a slingshot effect on you, but never quite knowing how he’s going to handle you is way hotter than I thought it could be.</p><p>Alex's gaze drifts down my body, and he makes a disgusted <em>tch</em> sound with his tongue. “Get ahold of yourself, Witt. I don’t plan on fucking you quite yet.” The mask of irritation breaks just for a moment as a sparkle of amusement lights up his eyes.</p><p>I look down and realize my arousal is becoming a little too apparent.</p><p>“Ah! I can’t go in now!” I hiss. “They’re gonna think we were, like, doing stuff!”</p><p>“We were doing stuff.”</p><p>“We were <em>talking</em> with a little kissing thrown in for good measure,” I say with exasperation. His hand reaches for me, cradling my jaw, tilting my chin up.</p><p>“Are you saying my kiss is not enough to leave you aroused?” he breathes into me, brushing his lips against mine, his tongue flicking delicately. I feel like I’m gonna melt into a puddle right now.</p><p>“Stop it,” I groan, despite pulling myself closer to him. He presses me back, increasing his grip slightly on my jaw.</p><p>“Get yourself in order, Elliott, and talk to your friends. I don’t want to be here forever.” He gently pats my cheek, the one he hadn’t left bruises on already (geez I hope the stubble is hiding those okay).</p><p>“Fine, fine,” I sigh, rearranging myself and buttoning my long cardigan to maybe help disguise it. I reach for the door handle and turn it. Or I try. “Oh, right, duh, doors auto lock,” I mutter, and knock on it. So much for doorfighter.</p><p>It immediately opens and I’m faced with the entire crew staring at me. I guess I’d kinda hoped some of them would already have left and maybe I’d just have to talk to Gibby for starters.</p><p>Guess I’m not so lucky.</p><p>Everyone is quiet as Alex and I slide in and let the door close behind us. Alex leans back against it, trying to fade away into the background. As if a guy that huge could.</p><p>Alright. Here we go. Now just talk. You’re good at talking. Well, I mean, you do it a lot. So just do it some more! The sooner you get this over with, the sooner you can get Alex back to your place and hear him call you a slut and do terrible, unspeakable, really hot things to you.</p><p>No no no don’t think about that, geez, what are you even—</p><p>“Hey, uh, I think Loba had something she wanted to say to you,” Makoa says, blessedly interrupting my thoughts as my brain was meandering to the way Alex looks when he’s slowly approaching you with a hungry expression.</p><p>Loba groans, shooting daggers at Makoa. “Fine. Elliott, I’m sorry for embarrassing you.” She looks over at Makoa. “Happy, Papi?”</p><p>“I guess you tried,” Makoa sighs, then turns his gaze to me. “We didn’t mean to pry, brudda. We’re just worried.”</p><p>I notice him glance back at Alex when he says it.</p><p>“You just been workin’ so hard lately,” Ajay says, her face soft with concern.</p><p>“And you’ve lost weight,” B adds softly. I tilt my head at them.</p><p>“How’d you know that?” I ask.</p><p>They shrug. “I pay attention.”</p><p>Leave it to B. They really do see everything…</p><p>“So look,” I begin, wringing my hands. “My mom’s health has started to, uh, get a little worse? And so we’re needing to hire someone to kinda keep an eye on her during the day while I’m gone. But to do that I’ve been needing to work more shifts. And… well… I’d hoped I could get enough saved up over Christmas break to just work evenings and weekends, but…”</p><p>“Why didn’t you tell us?” Anita asks, that motherly mix of chastisement and concern blending in her gruff voice. I shrug.</p><p>“I didn’t want you guys to worry. I mean, it’s not like there’s anything anyone can do to help. It’s just… how things are right now? School loans are helping, and mom gets disability, too, but… it’s fine. I’m handling it. Just needed to put school on the back burner for a semester.” Or two. Or three, I think, trying not to do the math in my head.</p><p>Natalie gets up without a word and shuffles over to me and before I know it she’s slipped her arms around my torso and is holding me tightly. Oh my god. She’s so cute but she’s legit going to make me cry, little dummy.</p><p>“We love you, Elliott. And we’re here for you, too.” She squeezes me and steps back. “You can ask for help, you know. We want to help you. We just didn’t know anything was going on.”</p><p>“She’s right, brudda,” Makoa adds, getting up and pulling me against his massive chest, smacking my back. “We got your back. Anything you need, you just say, yeah?”</p><p>Ajay shoots to her feet and pulls me from Makoa. “Ya gonna hurt him, Gibs,” she scolds, grabbing me into an equally rough hug. “I got some connections in da nursin’ department. We can get ya mom a good helper, okay?” She reaches up to ruffle my hair, and I feel my throat tighten as tears threaten to spill. I nod, trying to blink them back.</p><p>“Thanks, you guys,” I sniff heavily. “I know I should have told you sooner. Alex said so, too, I was just… I don’t even know.”</p><p>“We thought you were trying to ditch us!” Octane says. “Raiding ain’t the same without you, man!”</p><p>“I’m honestly a little glad this is all it was,” Ajay sighs, flopping back into her seat next to Octane. “For half a second I thought you was gonna say you and him were dating or something.” She nods back at Alex.</p><p>And I think maybe I get this deer in the headlight expression, because Ajay’s smile immediately drops.</p><p>“Not that that’s a problem!” She quickly adds. “I mean, it’s kinda fast but—”</p><p>“So are you?” Loba queries, leaning in closer with a wolfish grin.</p><p>“Uh… well, I guess that, um, yes? Yeah, we are. I think?” I look back at Alex, who is shooting me every single kind of warning sign you can do without moving. Well, might as well commit to it now. “Yeah. Definitely.”</p><p>“Oh my gosh!” Natalie gasps, and she hugs me again. “Alex, you dummy, why didn’t you tell me? I told him he should talk to you, Elliott, I swear, just yesterday!”</p><p>Natalie’s enthusiasm is cut short when Gibby sets a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, can we talk for a sec? In private?” he asks, nodding towards the hall, and his voice is way more subdued than usual. I feel a pit hollowing in my stomach. At the same moment, I realize B has stood as well, turning their attention to Alex.</p><p>“What do you think you’re doing?” they ask darkly, an anger I’m not used to hearing from them bites down hard on every word.</p><p>“Alright, what am I missing?” Anita asks, standing as well, her stance wary and ready to intervene.</p><p>Makoa looks from her, to Bloodhound, to me, pointedly ignoring Alex. I can feel Alex’s darkly anxious energy from here.</p><p>“Every passing day since this one has arrived, Elliott bears new marks,” B says grimly, eyes only for Alex. “His wrists are raw, bruises on his throat and his face.”</p><p>I’m incredibly aware now of the discolourations Alex had left behind in the few days I’d known him. I’d hoped nobody had noticed. I guess I was wrong.</p><p>“You wish to tell me these have nothing to do with you?” B asks, turning accusatory eyes to Alex, stepping protectively in between him and myself.</p><p>“B, you got it all wrong,” I try to protest. Kinda hard to do when they <em>don’t</em> actually have it wrong.</p><p>“You sayin’ he didn’t do that to you?” Gibby asks. “After how he handled you at the coffee shop—”</p><p>“What happened at the coffee shop?” Anita presses.</p><p>“Alex?” Natalie’s voice, small and quiet, cuts like a knife through the chaos. Everyone shuts up. “Did you do that to Elliott?”</p><p>Oh geez, oh heck, this is really getting out of control. I look back at Alex. He looks like someone just punched him.</p><p>“Nat, I… It… It isn’t—” he stammers. He takes a step forward but Makoa and B both block his path.</p><p>“Answer the girl’s question,” Makoa rumbles.</p><p>“It… was an accident.”</p><p>“What kind of <em>accident</em> gives someone marks like that?” Renee asks quietly.</p><p>“Hey, uh, maybe that’s just their thing. No kink shaming, guys,” Octane laughs, unable to fully commit to it.</p><p>Makoa presses me back further into the room as he advances on Alex, who has nowhere to retreat.</p><p>“I warned you, Nox. No one hurts my family,” Makoa said.</p><p>“Wait, Gibs, it isn’t like that!” I insist. “I mean, yeah, I guess it’s a little bit like it, I mean, sure, he did kinda—” I realize I’ve said something maybe too much and shut my mouth.</p><p>“I understand you’re concerned for your friend, but—” Alex tries, stepping towards me, and I can see the restraint he’s trying to show, even as his hands ball into white-knuckled fists.</p><p>“Get out of my room,” Makoa growls, and geez, that guy sure can fill a room when he wants to. Even B backs off to let him take over.</p><p>“Elliott and I—” Alex starts, motioning to me, but Makoa grabs his arm, pushing him back.</p><p>I see something break in Alex’s face, see that restraint snap like a piece of twine, and suddenly he’s wrenching his arm out of Makoa’s grasp and sending a fist towards his face. I barely have a second to yelp out a “Stop!” before Makoa slides the blow aside and returns it with his own.</p><p>The force of the punch sends Alex staggering back and he growls as blood begins to trickle from his nose. He starts to lunge at Makoa.</p><p>“Hey hey HEY!” Anita roars, throwing herself between the two and shoving Alex back against the door with a <em>thud</em>, her other hand on Makoa’s chest. “Both of you back off!”</p><p>
  
</p><p>I scramble past Makoa and throw myself against Alex, who is already readying to fight them both off.</p><p>“Stop!” I gasp, keeping him steady against the door. Alex grabs my shirt and tugs me up sharply with a growl before his anger-clouded eyes lock on mine. The haze clears, he lets me go with a sharp exhale. I stagger back as Alex tries with everything he can just to melt through that door. I look over my shoulder at Makoa, Anita still keeping him steady. “Please! Both of you, stop!”</p><p>“Elliott—” Makoa starts to object.</p><p>“Look, guys,” I say, looking from him to B with desperation. “I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine.”</p><p>“He hurt you, Elliott,” B objects softly, reaching for me. I step back towards Alex, my back to him, facing a room filled with anger and horror and disbelief.</p><p>“I’m fine. Just… I’m gonna go, okay? Let’s just… all calm down and talk about this all later?”</p><p>No one says anything.</p><p>And I guess that’s about as many words as I can muster. I slip past Alex, opening the door, and he follows me out.</p><p>I hear the door shut behind us but I just keep walking. I need to get out of here. Need to get away from the energy of that room. The horrified look Makoa gave me when I left. That realization that he couldn’t protect me if I was choosing the thing that was hurting me.</p><p>“Elliott, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause trouble. When he touched me, I just—” Alex says softly, following me closely, his anxiety pulsing at my back. I stop in the middle of the hall, and he nearly runs into me as I turn to face him.</p><p>“I know, I know, I shouldn’t have said anything about us… I just never thought that… Ugh, but I guess I should have.” I reach for him, wiping away the blood running down from his nose. He starts to jerk away but stabilizes himself and lets me. “Let’s just… go back to my place, okay? Let’s just not deal with this right now, okay?”</p><p>His chest draws in a long, deep breath as he brings his forehead down to gently press against mine. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.</p><p>I tilt my head up and kiss him. “Can we just… Can we just go back to my place and… forget about all that for a bit?”</p><p>He pulls me into him, burying his face in my hair and kissing the top of my head sweetly. “I think I can help with that.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Releasing Control</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter Twenty-Two</b><br/>
<em>Releasing Control</em>
</p><p>The walk back to Elliott’s is filled with a barrage of notifications on his phone. After every notification, Elliott’s shoulders get more and more tense. After about five minutes of it, he finally just turns his phone off.</p><p>Mine receives just a single message.</p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Wattson:</strong> Alex? I don’t understand what’s going on. Can we talk? Please?</p>
</blockquote><p>I should reply to her. Should tell her everything is fine and she shouldn’t worry and I’ll talk to her later.</p><p>But I keep seeing the way she looked at me. Like she didn’t know me. Like I was a monster.</p><p>I shove my phone back in my pocket with a sigh and pick up my speed to catch up with Elliott.</p><p>He’s been quiet on the walk home. Incredibly quiet. When faced with the weight of his silence, I start to yearn for the chatter. I fall into step next to him, sliding my hand into his. He looks over at me with surprise, which fades into a smile, which fades into nothing. He squeezes my hand tightly.</p><p>“Are you sure you should be ignoring your friends’ messages?” I ask as we walk hand-in-hand.</p><p>“Are you sure you should be ignoring Natalie’s?” he asks, shooting me a skeptical look.</p><p>“Touché…”</p><p>“They’ll be fine. I just need to figure out how to convince them you’re not gonna…” He stops himself, and we both fall back into silence for the rest of the walk.</p><p>The porch light is on, but when we go inside, I can hear the faint sounds of a white noise machine in the back of the house. His mother must already be in bed.</p><p>We climb the stairs, slip into his room, and he quietly closes the door, locking it behind him. He barely turns around before reaching his arms up over my shoulders and pulling himself against me. He kisses me, fervent and needy, trying to push away everything that happened tonight and just surround himself in me.</p><p>And everything feels different, as I hold him against me, kissing him back with every bit as much need with which he kisses me. He isn’t just a body, something warm to distract myself from my worries, to use and abuse at my leisure. There’s an entire person connected to him, a person that in three short days I have come to feel so strongly for.</p><p>He isn’t just overeffusive and loquacious. He’s caring and perceptive and constantly puts others ahead of himself. He openly accepts without any regard for himself.</p><p>The realization that I somehow can hold this man, and even more that he chooses to be here, floods over me, overwhelming me. My arms slide down his body, gripping his rear before hoisting him up into my arms. His legs wrap around my middle without question, and I slowly walk him to the bed, kissing him deeply, pressing my tongue into his mouth, filling him.</p><p>As I run up against the bed, I toss him down onto it. I mean to crawl on top of him, press him into the sheets, kiss him while trying to decide just how I want to take him tonight. As I set my knee on the bed beside him, looming over him, he brings a hand up to my chest.</p><p>“Wait just a sec,” he says, and it isn’t the meek, trepid expression from days prior when he worried just what I was planning to do to him. He spoke with the knowledge that I would stop. And I did.</p><p>“Yes, pet?” I ask, freezing.</p><p>“I don’t want anything rough tonight,” he says. It isn’t a request. It’s a statement, a prediction, a command. Part of me balks at the thought that he deigns to tell me what to do. I quickly suppress that part of me. “I just want to be with you. Do you mind if I kind of take the lead a little bit?”</p><p>Flashes of an evening, robbed of my own control, ropes biting into skin. I blink them away. He isn’t Franklin. Nothing about this man has shown he could act as selfishly as Franklin and I do. And I realize I trust him. Fully and completely.</p><p>“I’m yours,” I say simply.</p><p>He scoots out from under me over to the other side of the bed and pats the spot beside him. I crawl next to him, laying down while he leans over top me, an arm on either side. He kisses me with such gentleness I barely feel it.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“So…” he says, pulling back slightly but still leaning low over me. “I wanna do this right. Like, this being whatever is going on with the two of us. Dating or whatever? I know its new, and I know I’ll get to know more about you gradually, and—”</p><p>“The point, Elliott,” I say with more softness than I usually can summon when such a lovely man has me in his bed.</p><p>“The point, right,” he says, his face flushing. “What isn’t okay for you? Like… I know touching is kinda iffy. What don’t you want me to do? Or, heck, if the list is shorter, what <em>do</em> you want me to do?”</p><p>I stare up at him, completely taken aback. “I’ve… never been asked that before,” I admit softly, and I suddenly feel so vulnerable.</p><p>“You don’t have to just stumble through it all and hope you get it right, ya know,” Elliott says, tilting his head. “You can just… Communicate.”</p><p>My mind goes blank. What even do I enjoy? I’ve always been forceful, always willing to take the lead and push. How do I even say to this man, staring down at me so sweetly, that I love to watch him cower, watch him helpless, watch him humiliated? But… he knows all that.</p><p>It occurs to me with a wrenching of my chest that I have no idea what he himself enjoys. If he even liked any of our time together. Would he even know what he likes? I’ve been his only experience with another person. What if—</p><p>“Okay, so you look like I just called you to the front of the class and asked you to solve a math equation,” Elliott chuckles.</p><p>“I would honestly prefer a math equation,” I say, entirely seriously. He laughs, kisses me.</p><p>“Well, uh, what if I asked you to take your shirt off? Would you be okay with that?”</p><p>“No,” I answer quickly, more quickly than I expected.</p><p>“Shirt stays on. Got it. A shame, but one hundred percent understood. Are you a hair chest kinda person? I’m just a little curious. I don’t care if—”</p><p>“Why are you asking me this?” I ask.</p><p>“No reason, chest hair is just kinda hot and—"</p><p>"Not about the chest hair," I grumble. "About… everything else."</p><p>"Oh. Because I don’t wanna accidentally do something that makes you uncomfortable. You’ve got enough going on in that brain and I figure that’s just, you know. Decent.”</p><p>“... I never asked you. About anything.”</p><p>Elliot’s smile softens. He glances away. “Uh… no. You didn’t.”</p><p>“I should have.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>His eyes find their way back to mine and he slowly slides onto me, straddling my torso. He kisses me, sucking my lower lip gently. I close my eyes, wind my hands up along his thighs, cradling his hips.</p><p>He moves his pelvis against my stomach. I laugh smoothly in his mouth, and he leans up, blinking at me.</p><p>“What?” he asks.</p><p>“Your aim is a little off,” I coo, and with a sudden push at his hips I wrench him further down my body. His eyes go wide at the sudden motion. “I think I’ll enjoy your movement a little better here.”</p><p>“You’re too tall, I can’t kiss you from all the way down here,” he pouts, but dutifully rocks against me, his hands stabilizing himself on my chest. I lay my head back, relishing the feel of him moving against me, feeling myself respond to him, ache for him. I want so badly to roll on top of him, to take him. But the weight of him on me, the pressure of his hands on my chest, seeing him taking control… using my body for his own pleasure... The way he bites his lip, wrinkles his brow, as he rubs against my arousal...</p><p>With Franklin, it never would have turned me on the way it does with Elliott. Maybe I hadn’t truly trusted Franklin. Maybe I knew manipulation and control were both already a part of him. I’d seen where it could take him in his day to day life, using it against people he cared nothing for. I didn’t want to be included in that category.</p><p>But seeing it in Elliott… it’s intoxicating. Thrilling to see this new side of him. I want to find out what he will do with it.</p><p>And I trust him enough to let him.</p><p>With a final grind against me, he lifts himself off of me, sliding down my body, nestling himself between my legs. He kisses my covered erection, and I can barely feel the light pressure over my jeans. Halting fingers slide up over my crotch, lightly gripping my length, testing my size, drawing out my arousal.</p><p>He slides down my zipper, repeats the kisses, the touching, now with one less layer of fabric. He pulls down my underwear, and I raise my hips up to help him easily slide my clothing down my form. He kisses the base of my erection, sucking gently, cradling its length as if it were something precious.</p><p>“And just what do you intend to do with me tonight, hmm?” I ask, soaking in the image of him worshiping my cock.</p><p>“You never give me time to just appreciate what you’ve got,” he says, looking up at me with huge, dark eyes.</p><p>“Do you plan to simply tease out my orgasm with kisses?”</p><p>“You’d think for a scientist you’d be a little more patient, ya know,” he scolds.</p><p>He nips lightly at my shaft, pinching skin, and I flinch at the sharp pain. No, flinch isn’t right. Convulse. I’ve never enjoyed receiving pain. Only inflicting. The experience is… confusing. Arousing.</p><p>“You okay?” Elliott asks, his expression melting into concern. “Sorry, did I hurt you?”</p><p>“No,” I rumble. “No, it was… it felt good.”</p><p>He nods in satisfaction, before drawing all of me into his mouth. Laying here, passive, while he ran that delightfully slutty little mouth along my length… able to focus fully on the sensations, the image of him, and not be preoccupied with exactly how I wanted to ramp things up… It is a simple and delicious change of pace.</p><p>I see him reach a hand between his own thighs, touching himself while he sucks me off. It gives me a feeling of being little more than a dildo, as though he doesn’t truly need me in this moment. The submissive thought clashes with my dominant nature, tries to rip from me memories of the last time I'd been in a subservient position, tries to remind me that I should hate this, that I should be afraid.</p><p>I’m not. Of course I’m not afraid. Elliott is safe.</p><p>I reach for his face, his eyes shut tightly in enjoyment, brushing fingers across his cheek. His eyes dart open, mouth still full of me, as if surprised I am still here. I prop myself up, examine him with half-closed eyes. He slides his mouth off of my length, leans up, his expression quizzical.</p><p>“Something wrong?” He asks. Twice now, in as many minutes, he’s asked about my well-being. I feel something catch in my chest, my throat tight as I try to swallow.</p><p>“No,” I whisper. “No, nothing is wrong. Everything is perfect.”</p><p>He grins at me, a stupid grin with squinted eyes that makes me want to pull him up to me and kiss him hard. As if reading my thoughts, he crawls up along my body, lays a single kiss on my lips. And then he slides off of me to stand by the bed. I look over at him with confusion.</p><p>“What—”</p><p>“Pants are hard to take off when I’m on a bed,” he laughs self-consciously as he starts to shimmy out of skinny jeans. “I, uh, I kinda wanted to ride you, if that’s okay.”</p><p>“As I said. I’m yours tonight,” I say, watching him bare his skin before me. He slips off his shirt, adding it to the steadily growing pile of clothes at his feet. I slide out of my own pants and for the briefest moment I consider how it might feel to have all of me bared, to feel him press his chest against mine, to run hands along the skin of my torso. A shudder runs through me, a lurching of my stomach, and the appeal quickly turns to panic. I press the thought from my mind, and by the time I have Elliott’s already proudly collected a condom and a little bottle of lube and is crawling back onto the bed and kneeling between my legs.</p><p>I watch with amusement as he fusses with the packaging, mumbling criticisms of package design as he tries to open it without dropping the little bottle. When he finally pulls it out, he balks.</p><p>“Oh. It’s, like… wet?” He looks up at me. “Is it supposed to be that?”</p><p>“You are a beautiful idiot, do you know that?” I laugh.</p><p>“Okay, well, I mean I have a 4.0, but sure,” he mumbles.</p><p>Despite clearly never having encountered a condom himself before, he seems to know how to put one on, so I decide not to interfere. He uses a rather generous amount of lube, then settles himself over top of me. He reaches back and grasps my erection in his hand, aligning it against his hole. His face is screwed up in concentration that sharpens with a wince as he ushers my tip into himself. I have a darkly intense desire to thrust up sharply into him and hold him there, see the way his face would twist, the way he would struggle.</p><p>With a growl I press those thoughts back down, and simply enjoy the agonizingly slow, sensual way he gradually slides me into him, making little sounds of pleasure and delightful gasps when it's too much.</p><p>With a sharp intake of breath and his eyes shut tightly, he presses himself down over me fully. I rumble with pleasure, fingers reaching towards his legs, running along his skin. He starts to rock his hips, his hole squeezing the base of my cock tightly as it slides along me.</p><p>
  
</p><p>The movement of his body is breathtaking. The undulation of his torso, the way his cock bounces softly with every movement, the gentle bite of his lip to hold back his moans… Christ. I could watch him ride me all day. My fingers float along his skin, exploring him in ways I never had, appreciating parts of him that had never been relevant to my use of him. I touch his stomach, feel the muscles tighten and pulse with every thrust of his hips. Down to his ass, so hungrily tightening on my shaft. A shudder spreads through his body as I stroke his inner thigh, and I spend a longer moment there, drawing out moans as my fingers skim along him.</p><p>He starts lengthening his thrusts, his hole sliding along the entire length of me before pulling me back into itself, my hips rising and falling to meet him.</p><p>“You are so beautiful,” I whisper just as he gasps out an exclamation of passion, my words hidden by his pleasure.</p><p>Could I have appreciated him in this way days ago? Relished in his pleasure as he rides my cock, no hint of apprehension or fear. Did it take understanding who he is, appreciating the man himself, before I could have enjoyed him in this way?</p><p>Or could I have had this from the start, if I had given him the chance?</p><p>I press the thought from my mind, and am overcome with the desire to give him as much pleasure as he’s giving me. I reach for his cock, and he moans the second I grip it, jerking it in tandem with his undulations, matching my speed with his.</p><p>“Oh… oh f-fuck…” he sighs, hastening his thrusts, my hand tugging at him more intensely. His face screws up in pleasure and concentration, and I laugh softly to myself at how sensitive he is, how quickly pleased his body is, so new to the touch of another.</p><p>I can already feel his cock throbbing in my hand, twitching, the muscles in his abdomen tightening. He loses his rhythm as he leans back, his hands supporting himself against my thighs. I keep pumping him even as he stops moving, my cock buried deep in his ass. His fingers grip my thighs painfully strong as his moans rise higher. With a final gasp his cock shudders, cum shooting from it, splattering my shirt. The mild annoyance of it is worth watching him climax, feeling his legs clench my sides.</p><p>As his body relaxes, muscles easing, he straightens up, blinking down at me and realizing with dismay that he’s thoroughly ruined my shirt.</p><p>“Oh… Shoot, Alex, I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”</p><p>“Elliott, I would like to remind you that the cock in your greedy little ass would still like to cum,” I rumble, a grin twisting my lips.</p><p>“Oh! Yeah, sorry, you kinda distracted me.”</p><p>“Make it up to me by turning around. I want to watch your ass while you ride me,” I say, reaching for his face, glistening with sweat, running my thumb over his mouth. Like the delightful little slut he is, he sucks at my thumb before I pull it away.</p><p>“Sure,” he breaths, pulling himself slowly up off of me, turning around. I run my hands over his ass, gripping it with hunger, before releasing my hold on it and allowing him his control once more.</p><p>Less slowly than before he inches himself over me. Watching him take in my girth, all of it, spread slowly over my entire length, is absolutely rapturous.</p><p>He leans forward, bouncing his ass along my cock, building speed. I’m so tempted to grab ahold and use him like a sleeve but I resist, telling myself how delightful it can be to have a sleeve so willingly fuck me itself.</p><p>The sight of him, the feel of him, the sounds of his exertion, the smell of his cum spread over a shirt I couldn’t bring myself to remove, all of it roiled together in a cacophony of overwhelming sensuality. I ball my hands into fists to keep them from grabbing him, finishing the job myself.</p><p>I feel it coming, feel it washing over me, heat spreading through limbs and sparks shooting into extremities. I can’t hold back anymore, and I grab his hips, pulling him down hard onto me and holding him there as I thrust up into him as I come.</p><p>Exhaustion washes over me and my muscles go limp. He slides off of me, collapsing by my side, snuggling close against me. I wrap my arm around him, he buries himself in the musk of me, breathing deeply, his arm reaching across and gripping my torso.</p><p>We lay there, breathing heavily in off-kilter tandem, and for once in a very long time I don’t feel shame flood into me as the orgasmic euphoria fades.</p><p>I kiss the top of his head, fingers twisting through black, curly locks. And I’m happy.</p>
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<a name="section0023"><h2>23. One New Voicemail</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter 23</b><br/>
<em>One New Voicemail</em>
</p><p>I don’t know how long we’ve been lying here, wrapped up in one another. Once we had cleaned up, Elliott had scrounged up one of his larger-framed brother’s old t-shirts from the bottom of a drawer (Camp Gethsamane’s Sr. High Discipleship Camp from about thirteen years prior) and we had both returned to his bed.</p><p>
  
</p><p>It’s perfect, holding him against me without intent of using him for my own pleasure. Just a need to be close to him.</p><p>I think, for a moment, he might have fallen asleep, tucked soundly in the crook of my underarm, his arm draped over my chest. He nuzzles deeper into me, gripping me tightly.</p><p>But eventually, as is always the case with him, the silence is inevitably broken. “So… Alex?” Elliott says. I don’t find it as grating as I had. I make a soft sound of affirmation. “About the touch thing. Has that always been a thing for you? Er, like, a bad thing.”</p><p>I think about it for a moment before answering, taking in a heavy draw of air, watching him rise and sink on my chest. “Not always, no.”</p><p>His hand runs along my clothed chest thoughtfully. “When we first met, you didn’t like any of it. Unless you were the one guiding it, I guess.”</p><p>“True,” I say simply as his hand slides up to my neck, gently stroking the skin beyond the neckline of my shirt.</p><p>“That’s fine, right?” he asks, fingers climbing up my neck to my jaw, caressing my cheek. I turn my head, pressing lips into his palm, before looking back at him.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>He smiles warmly, burying his face into me. “I think that means you like me,” he says, his words muffled.</p><p>“I like you better when you’re quieter,” I growl playfully into his ear, and I can see the goosebumps spread on his arm, hair standing on end.</p><p>He leans up again, peering down at me. “So when did it all start?”</p><p>I sigh, throwing him an irritated expression, but it doesn’t phase him. “I’m not sure,” I say. It’s a lie. I know the exact moment. And the way he’s scowling at me, I’m apparently not fooling him.</p><p>“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he says softly, burrowing back into me. “It’s just that you can trust me with it if you want.”</p><p>I let the conversation die, fade into the quiet of the urban home, the sounds of cars droning softly outside his window. The night before, my senses had been muffled with tears and heaviness of guilt. I hadn’t noticed the sounds a city can whisper into a home.</p><p>I’d always lived in remote locations, grew up surrounded by the earthy silence of farmlands. Humbert University was a private campus on the outskirts of a quiet, wealthy town. Here, there is always something moving, something groaning, something crying out into the emptiness around it. It’s comforting. It’s distracting. Something you can either let fade away into the background or focus on it entirely.</p><p>“Three months ago,” I say suddenly, staring at the light fixture on the ceiling. Anything to focus my attention on. Study the shape of it, the dust on it, the cobweb hanging limply from its apex. Elliott shifts beside me. “It was three months ago.”</p><p>“That recently?” he asks, his voice tender.</p><p>I recount the basics, feeling incredibly idiotic telling Elliott of all people about an unwanted sexual encounter and how it had broken me. He listens without interjection to the few details I provide. I finally fall quiet, and I can tell he wants to say something. But anything he can say, any judgement of Franklin, would simply reflect onto me as well, reflect on a mere 24 hours prior.</p><p>“Does it hurt?” he finally asks, abandoning consolation, sinking back against me.</p><p>“Yes. Usually.”</p><p>“Even with me?”</p><p>“... A little.”</p><p>What I hope is about to become a more consistant silence is suddenly broken by vibration of a phone, rattling on the bedside table. I reach for it automatically, stare at the ID.</p><p>
  <em>Laura Humbert.</em>
</p><p>My other hand reaches for the phone, fingers moving to accept the call, as if I can’t help myself. Elliott intercepts me, grabbing my wrist.</p><p>“Don’t,” he pleads, an edge in his voice. “You don’t have to.”</p><p>“I… Yes, I do. It’s my fault her son is—”</p><p>Elliott slides on top of me, straddling my torso. He presses my arm slowly down to the bed, arching it above my head.</p><p>“It isn’t. You don’t have to answer. Just let it go to voicemail,” he pleads, keeping pressure on my arm. I can feel the burning begin to spread at his touch, at the restraint. A snarl forms on my lip.</p><p>“Let go,” I hiss. He does, leaning back, lifting his hands up.</p><p>“Don’t answer,” he repeats. And I hesitate, staring at him, feeling the phone continue to pulse in my hand. “Please.”</p><p>The vibrations stop. Silence.</p><p>
  <strong><em>1 Missed Call</em> </strong>
</p><p>I release the breath I’d been holding. It comes out in a shudder, but carries with it tension that had built in my muscles. I’d never ignored one of her calls. Every single one I’d answered. I’d taken every verbal lashing, every insult, every accusation. Kept quiet while she screamed and cried and a thousand other things I couldn’t blame her for. She was simply a mother in pain.</p><p>Elliott doesn’t move, still straddling my waist. He sits back onto my stomach and makes me groan at the weight. “Why do you still answer those? I thought she wouldn’t even let you see him in the hospital after what happened.”</p><p>I let go of the phone, dropping it against the pillow, bringing my hands up to rest on his legs.</p><p>“She just needs someone to blame. I can be that for her.”</p><p>“You don’t need to. It’s not very condsudive—uh—cosnutive—“</p><p>“Conducive.”</p><p>“Yeah that. It’s not, uh, <em>that</em> to good mental health.”</p><p>“It’s fine. I can bear it. It doesn’t leave an impact.”</p><p>Elliott looks down at me with a glare. It might be the first time I’ve seen anger on that tanned face. He brushes my hands off his legs. “No, hey. That’s not cool. Last night was fine until she called. So… don’t tell me it didn’t affect you. Just… don’t.”</p><p>My breath catches. I blink up at him. He was right, of course. And my words had just dismissed everything I’d done to him.</p><p>“... I’m sorry. You’re right.”</p><p>“Yeah. I am.” His face softens, he leans forward onto me, sliding off the side to take his place back in the crook of my shoulder.</p><p>The phone vibrates once more. I don’t look at it. I turn towards Elliott, wrapping my arms around him and pulling him close against my chest, tucking his head under my chin. As long as I can hold him like this? I think I would be content never answering that phone again.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>1 Missed Call<br/>
1 New Voicemail</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><em>Alexander? It’s Lauren. He’s awake. He… he wants to talk with you. I told him no, I told him to just forget about you, but he’s insisting… Oh… Oh, Alexander… I can’t even believe it. He’s awake. He’s awake, my boy is… It’s… Everything is going to be okay now. Everything is going to be fine… He’s going to be okay. </em> He’s going to be okay. <em> Call me back.</em></p><p>
  <em>He wants to see you.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Natalie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter 24</b><br/>
<em>Natalie</em>
</p><p>I spend the night that night. And the one after that, and the one after that. I couldn’t go back to my room. Not now. Not with B there. I’d stopped by to grab some essentials, but I hadn’t seen any of Elliott’s friends since movie night, and I honestly wasn’t incredibly keen to.</p><p>The group chat had been ominously quiet, as well.</p><p>I also haven’t responded to Natalie’s message yet. I had intended to the next morning, I truly had. But I didn’t know what to say to her yet. I tried, over and over again, to type something out but deleted every single attempt. And now the silence had gone on for too long and I simply wasn’t sure how to address it.</p><p>Besides. I had plenty to distract me when I didn’t want to think about her.</p><p>Ajay had followed through for Elliott despite the chaos of that night and helped him find someone to help out his mother. This resulted in Elliott spending most of his days at the coffee shop, taking double shifts when he could get them, to help cover the reasonable but significant cost. Fortunately, a flakey coworker meant the odds were pretty high.</p><p>I would lurk at the coffee shop when he worked evenings, doing my homework. When things were slow he would sit with me and help where he could. Which was more often than I had expected, especially considering he only had a year of college under his belt. But he hadn’t lied. He is smarter than he seems. After his shifts, I would head home with him and take full advantage of having a partner who was perhaps even hornier than I am.</p><p>By the end of the week, I was thoroughly exhausted, and looking forward to a break. A break in which I knew I needed to talk to Natalie.</p><p>“You still haven’t responded to her?” Elliott gasps, exasperated. He sits up in bed, still naked and covered in sweat from tonight’s exertions. It’s Friday night, and his shift had been long and arduous, his body aching from an entire day on his feet. So I had very generously taken him home, tied him up so he wouldn’t have to further tax his body’s strength, and fucked him thoroughly.</p><p>“No…” I say, staring at the abandoned message she had sent days ago. “I meant to, but I didn’t know what to say. And then it just… was too long.”</p><p>“You dummy,” Elliott sighs. “She’s your best friend. You need to talk to her.”</p><p>“She won’t understand.”</p><p>“Well… I mean, yeah, but I think you should give her the opportunity. Just send her a message right now! Like, a cute little <em>sorry I kinda raped your friend and then tried to punch your other friend</em> emoji. There’s one of those, right?”</p><p>I shoot him a withering glare.</p><p>“Oh,” he says. “Are we not joking about that yet? Fine. I mean, I feel like I should get to make that call, but—”</p><p>“<em>Elliott.</em>”</p><p>“Just say you wanna meet tomorrow morning. At the coffee shop. I’m opening, so I’ll be there to take out your aggressions on, you know, in case things go poorly.”</p><p>“It isn’t funny.”</p><p>“It wasn’t meant to be,” he says, flashing a grin and kissing my forehead before plopping back down onto the bed and picking up his own phone. “Message her. Now.”</p><p>I groan, reaching for my abandoned phone on the floor by the bed. He’s right. I hate it, but he’s right. I need to talk to her.</p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Alex:</strong> Are you free tomorrow morning? 9am at the coffee shop?</p>
</blockquote><p>Before I have time to second guess myself, I press send, close the phone, and toss it to the floor.</p><p>“I’m very proud,” Elliott says, his thumbs tapping out a message on his phone.</p><p>“Are you making plans with the rest of them now?” I ask, trying to peer at his phone.</p><p>“I did that days ago. Because I’m an adult who takes care of things. We’re getting together tomorrow afternoon after work.” He glances over at me. “Speaking of. You might not wanna be at the coffee shop tomorrow around 2.”</p><p>“Understood… So if not your friends, then who are you texting?”</p><p>“Oh! Some rando with the wrong number texted me a few days ago and we’ve been chatting. It’s kinda fun. They’re taking a break from school, too, so we’re bonding.”</p><p>I pat his thigh roughly, then lean up and tug on pants. “I’m going to shower. Have fun texting your little friend.”</p><p>After my shower, I find a response from Natalie.</p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Wattson:</strong> Okay.</p>
</blockquote><p>The single word response is enough to break my heart, but I can think about that later. Now to decide what to say to her.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“You should look nice!”</p><p>“It’s not a fucking date, Elliott.”</p><p>“Something soft. For the inevitable hug. Where’s that yellow sweater of yours?”</p><p>“In the laundry bin. Covered in your semen.”</p><p>Elliott turns a crinkled expression to me. “Why do you gotta say it like that? Coulda just said ‘it’s dirty, Elliott.’”</p><p>I grab him, pull me into him, wrenching his hair back to watch his neck arch.</p><p>“It’s dirty, Elliott,” I hiss into his ear, before pushing him back. He staggers away, flushed and starry-eyed.</p><p>“That was mean,” he moans, adjusting his pants.</p><p>I laugh, muttering, “Pathetic,” before tugging a grey cable-knit sweater overtop the plain t-shirt. Elliott shrugs his approval, and we both head out into the brisk, early morning air.</p><p>We get to the coffee shop in time for Elliott’s open, around 6:30am, so I at least have a few hours to find the best spot and figure out what the hell I’m going to say.</p><p>Natalie is late, because Natalie is always late. Elliott must have directed her towards the proper nook of the coffee shop, and she peeks in meekly at about a quarter past.</p><p>I hadn’t realized until now how much I’ve missed her. I stand stiffly, suddenly feeling all those halting, awkward emotions on a first date. Not knowing how to act, whether to hug or not, not wanting to come off as too gruff or too friendly. It’s Natalie. I know Natalie. But I don’t know how to be around her after all this. After ignoring her message for three days.</p><p>“Hi,” I say, hoping my voice comes out normal. It does, if a little weak.</p><p>And because Natalie is Natalie, she walks straight up to me, sets her very full cup down, and wraps her arms around me, burying her face in my chest. Every amount of tension melts away as I hug her back.</p><p>“You’re still in trouble,” she mumbles. “But I really missed you.”</p><p>“I’m sorry I took so long to respond. I just… I didn't know what to say. That night—”</p><p>She steps back, grabbing my hand. “I don’t wanna talk about what happened that night, okay? I just… I know what everyone else is saying. I want to know what’s going on with you.”</p><p>We take a seat. I’ve had two hours to figure out what I should say. But now that she’s here, staring at me with those big eyes full of concern… How do I talk about anger and pain and abuse when she’s looking at me? I take a slow, steadying breath, and before I can think too much about it, I throw out the first words I can think of.</p><p>“The other day, you… you said I’d been getting worse. Mentioned something looming over me.”</p><p>She nods softly.</p><p>“There are things about me you don’t know. Things I don’t want you to know. But you were right. About the anger. About the darkness. I think it's always been there, but… you’re such a light, Nat. Just being around you drove it away, or… I don’t know, maybe drove it deeper. When I left for college, I let it back in.”</p><p>And I tell her everything. About Franklin, our dynamic, what happened in the lab. Skimming over little details I couldn’t bear her to know. She listens without interjection, just that soft, sad expression, refusing to look away. Even when I stare into my coffee, recounting things I don’t want to relive, she’s watching, staring. I realize I hadn’t truly talked to her in years. Not about me. We’d talk about her. Her college plans. The friends she was making. What she was doing in her free time since I left.</p><p>But I’d steer the conversation away from me. And now that I’m recounting the past two and a half years to her, it's overwhelming to realize what I’d buried.</p><p>“I think I just hoped it would all go away again when I got here,” I admit as my story finally reaches the present. “Being back here with you… I think I just expected you to be able to drive it all away again. But you had your own group of friends, your own life that didn’t revolve around me. It… wasn’t a fair expectation. So when I realized that was the case, I…” My mind slips to that first night in the bathroom with Elliott. “I just stopped trying to hold it back.”</p><p>The words fade into the room around us. She finally lets her gaze drop, gently sipping a chai that had steadily gotten cooler and cooler the longer I had talked. I wish she would say something. Tell me she hates me, tell me we’re done, anything. Anything would be better than her silence.</p><p>She puts down her cup and once again brings her eyes up to mine. They are distant, overwhelming. Like looking at an image of the galaxy and realizing how small and insignificant you are.</p><p>“Did you hurt Elliott?” she asks quietly.</p><p>Context, my mind screams, there’s context! But there isn’t, really. There isn’t any context that excuses me. There’s only an incredibly sweet man in the other room, brewing coffee for strangers and making them feel like they are his entire world.</p><p>“Yes,” I say, my voice hoarse. I’m terrified she’ll ask for more. Ask me to tell her everything I did to him. But I suppose the marks that have finally faded from his skin said plenty.</p><p>“Why?” She asks, her voice cracks, breaking that distant feeling.</p><p>“Because he was there. There’s no reason, no… no excuse. I was angry. I was hurt. And he was there.”</p><p>“So… why’s he still there?”</p><p>I shake my head. I know all the reasons I fell for him. Why he fell, however, I couldn’t begin to guess.</p><p>“I don’t know, Nat. But… Listen. It wasn’t fair of me to expect you would suppress that anger for me again. I know I can’t rely on anyone to change that for me. But being here with you, being with Elliott… it makes me want to change. To be better.”</p><p>She nods stiffly. “You need to be. Alex, I’m…” She takes a shuddering breath and then suddenly something… breaks. She looks at me with such intensity, such emotion, eyes brimming with tears. She reaches for my hands, freezes, carefully draws her hands back into her lap. “I’m...I’m trying so hard not to just hug you and tell you it’s all okay and that I can make it better for you. Because it isn’t. It <em>isn’t</em> okay. I know you, Alex!” She presses her hands against her chest. “I know your heart! The one you don’t see. The good one. But right now, everyone else is terrified of you. They’re telling me to cut you out, they’re trying to figure out how to help Elliott. And I don’t know what to do about that!”</p><p>“Natalie…”</p><p>“You scared me, Alex. The way you looked at Makoa. I looked at you and you just… you were everything they said you were. And nothing I told them you would be. Alex…” Her hands start towards me again, she stops them again, wrapping their tightly around her cup. “I love Elliott. I love him so much. He is so sweet and nice and funny. I don’t want you to ruin him.”</p><p>My breath stops. Nausea rolls in my stomach and I try to push it back down. I get up, step over to her, kneel down by her side and gather her hands in mine. She resists for just a moment before finally letting herself accept my touch. I squeeze her hands tightly.</p><p>“I love him, too,” I breathe, my voice wavering. I hadn’t meant to say it, didn’t realize I could. Didn’t even know if a week was long enough to feel that way about someone. But it must be, because the words feel so true. “I don’t want to ruin him. I won’t. I promise you I won’t. I love him. I love him so much.”</p><p>He throws herself into me, toppling me back onto the ground, arms flung around my shoulders, face buried in my neck as she starts to cry. I wrap my arms around her, rocking her gently.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“I’m not going back to it,” I whisper, and I realize I’m crying, too. “I’m not going back to that haze. I don’t want to be angry anymore. I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want to let you down. I’m not going back to it.”</p><p>And for a moment, I really, truly believe that.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>1 New Text</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Unknown Number</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Mementos</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter 25</b><br/>
<em>Mementos</em>
</p><p>It’s late when Elliott gets back. I’d nearly resigned myself to going to bed without him, but fortunately as I’m washing dishes in the kitchen I hear the click of the door unlocking.</p><p>I lean out into the hall as he’s tugging his coat off. Just as he turns towards the stairs I catch his eye, nodding my head towards the kitchen. He pads dutifully down the hall to join me.</p><p>“Are you doing dishes?” he asks quietly, his mother’s white noise machine droning somewhat more loudly than usual further down the hall. He tosses his coat onto one of the dining room chairs as I rinse a pan and start to dry it. He steps behind me, wrapping his arms around my torso and kissing the space between my shoulder blades.</p><p>“Didn’t want to leave them for your mother.”</p><p>“The home aid person—Shoot, what was their name? D-something?—Did they cook?”</p><p>“No,” I say, setting the dried pan on the counter and pivoting in his arms, kissing the top of his head. “I did.”</p><p>He looks up at me and blinks. “Wait, really?”</p><p>“Finished homework early. You were still busy. So I relieved them and spent the evening here.”</p><p>“With my mom?”</p><p>“Yes, with your mom.”</p><p>“And you cooked for her?”</p><p>“It was just a stir-fry. She had some vegetables in the fridge that needed to be used and—”</p><p>I’m cut off when he grabs me and pulls me into a deep kiss. I think he’s planning on keeping me there all night when finally he pulls back, looking up at me with shimmering eyes. He grabs my hand and starts to tug me towards the hall.</p><p>“Come on. I need to fuck you right now.”</p><p>I laugh, tugging him back and ruffling his hair. I wrench my hand from his, turn him to the hall and give him a little push.</p><p>“I’ll be right up. But I want to hear how everything went with your friends, first.”</p><p>He leans into the door frame, pretending to swoon. “You’re every girl’s dream, Alexander.”</p><p>“Shut that pretty mouth of yours and go get changed out of your work clothes. You smell like burned coffee and spoiled milk,” I say, shaking my head and draping the damp towel over my shoulder. He sighs dramatically and disappears around the corner.</p><p>I hear him ascend the stairs, then the quiet click of his door closing. I turn my attention back to the last few dishes.</p><p>I hadn’t expected his reaction. I certainly hadn’t chosen to spend my evening this way to curry favour. I hope he didn’t think so. Evelyn is a genuinely sweet person, much like her son, and she treated me to stories of his childhood (some several times over).</p><p>This wasn’t something I’d had with Franklin. I met his parents only once, and it was in passing as they were leaving for their summer cabin. I’d heard more from his mother in the past month than the two years we’d dated. And it certainly hadn’t been something I’d had with my own family. There was a warmth to it. Her immediate acceptance of me as family caught me by surprise.</p><p>My phone vibrates, pulling me from my thoughts. It’s from Elliott, a somewhat less than tasteful picture of his erect penis, along with the words “<em>hurry :* </em>”. I roll my eyes and stow my phone in my back pocket, finish up the last dishes, and drain the sink.</p><p>My phone vibrates again.</p><p>“Impatient little slut,” I sigh with a smile, pulling it back out to check what he’s sent me now.</p><p>It’s a text from an unknown sender. My breath catches in my chest.</p><p>
  
</p><p>I had nearly convinced myself the first one was a mistake. But twice in one day… I hastily delete them both, hoping I can just forget about it. It’s just a prank. Some random person messing with me. Probably some kid who just entered a random number.</p><p>Or… maybe things hadn’t gone well with his friends. What if one of them was doing this? Trying to warn me off?</p><p>I take a steadying breath, turn off the lights, and head upstairs.</p><p>Elliott’s laying on the bed, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, texting. I’d honestly half expected to come up here to find him naked and playing with himself.</p><p>“Did you get my pic?” he asked, flashing pristine white teeth at me. I stride over to him, kicking off my shoes as I do, sliding onto the bed next to him.</p><p>“I did. You seem to have gotten distracted.”</p><p>“You took too long,” he says, pressing send and tossing his phone aside. “You, uh, you wanted to know how things went today. Right?”</p><p>“I really should punish you for teasing without any intent on delivering,” I say, reaching for his crotch and sliding my hand over it. He laughs weakly as his cock twitches under my touch, and I squeeze it gently. He moans, his eyes fluttering closed as he draws in his lower lip. “But fine. Later. Tell me how things went.” I squeeze his balls roughly, he sucks in a sharp intake of breath, and I turn onto my side to face him.</p><p>His eyes flicker open, and he leans up, propping himself on an elbow.</p><p>“Okay. So. It… was good? But kinda sucked? Honestly it helped a ton that you’d already talked to Natalie. She was super great and tried to intervene when I got all tongue-tied. Everyone pretty much just wanted to voice their concerns and make sure I was okay.”</p><p>“And they’re just… fine now?” I ask skeptically. Elliott makes an iffy sound.</p><p>“Eeehhhhhh, they at least said they’d give you another chance? B says you’re allowed back in their dorm room.”</p><p>“I didn’t know I was barred.”</p><p>“I guess so. They seemed a little irritated they hadn’t gotten to actually kick you out since you never came back. But then they said something mushy about forgiveness that I don’t super remember.”</p><p>“Thank you for your stellar work at passing along their message. You... were gone a long time. Is that all that happened?”</p><p>Elliott flops back down to the bed, stretching his arms up under his head. “Gibby wasn’t… super convinced. We hung out a while. Talked some more. I think he needs a little more time around you before he’s gonna relax.”</p><p>I make a harrumphing sort of noise in my chest. “I hope you don’t expect me to spend quality bonding time together with him, Mr. Witt.”</p><p>Elliott nestles a little closer to me. I run tender strokes down his chest, running along his stomach, that little patch of skin bared just above his sweats.</p><p>“Not exactly. Just… it’d help for them to see us together. You know, in a nice coupley sort of way. Maybe you can make an account in the game? And come to more movie nights?”</p><p>“If I say yes, can I be rewarded with another glimpse of that lovely cock of yours?” I whisper, my fingers inching past the hem of his sweats.</p><p>“Eh,” Elliott says, stretching with an affected yawn. “I guess I’m just not feeling it anymore. Maybe we should just go to sleep.” He starts to turn over.</p><p>I grab his shoulder and tug him back towards me, pressing him down into the mattress. I can see his erection push against his sweats.</p><p>“I believe I was promised your body tonight, Elliott,” I growl warmly, sliding my hands up along his torso, baring his skin. A shudder runs down his body.</p><p>“What if I said I was too sleepy?” Elliott queries breathlessly, a sparkle in his eyes.</p><p>My hand slips down into his sweats to discover he’s not wearing any underwear. I grip his cock, rubbing it with light pressure. “I don’t need you to be awake to use you,” I purr into his ear. “Do you still want me to stop?”</p><p>He shakes his head, arching his back as I pump his length. “N-no…” he mumbles, fading into a moan.</p><p>“What a good little boy. Don’t worry, I’ll make it quick,” I say. With a quick tug I pull down his sweats, then slide his shirt up over his head, twisting it around his wrists. I settle between his legs, leaning forward over him to kiss him, rubbing myself against him. “Did you tell your friends what a perfect little slut you are?” I ask him, planting kisses down along his neck, sucking gently.</p><p>He bares his neck for me, arching it to the side. “You’re not leaving hickies, are you?”</p><p>“I like claiming my what is mine,” I hiss, sucking at his skin just above his clavicle.</p><p>“I have to go to work like that,” he moans, making no attempts to escape my lips.</p><p>“Perhaps I should leave my marks where no one can see?” I ask, trailing kisses along his chest, down his stomach, skirting along his anxious cock. It twitches against my cheek, longing for attention.</p><p>“What kind of marks?” he asks. I flash him a wicked grin.</p><p>“Tell me if it hurts too much, and I’ll stop, alright?”</p><p>I flip him over roughly, sliding his pants off the rest of the way, kneeling between his spread legs. I run my hand over his ass, spreading him, fingering his hole, before pulling my hand back and smacking him hard. He yelps, his entire body flinching, and with satisfaction I can see the red imprint of my hand on him.</p><p>“Was that too much for my little slut?” I ask, gripping his ass, massaging it, appreciating its shape, its size in my large hands. “Or would he like more?”</p><p>“M-more,” he murmurs into the sheets. I raise my hand again, striking him with more force. He bites down on his pillow.</p><p>“Well done,” I coo, and I tug his hips up sharply, spreading his ass beautifully. I lean down, kissing him, running my tongue along his taint. He shudders. I strike him again, the sharp smack filling the room and another cry buried in a pillow. The growing welts on his lovely skin fill me with a primal, possessive pride. This is mine. And I want to remember how my toy looks when I’ve claimed it.</p><p>I reach into my back pocket for my phone, spread his ass, press the shutter. The flash goes off and Elliott shifts.</p><p>“What are you doing?” he asks, turning his head as much towards me as he’s able. That little glimpse of his face is perfect. I take another picture.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Just a memento of my prize,” I say, looking at the picture with a growl lingering in my throat. “You look perfect.”</p><p>I flip him back over, hold the phone towards him so he can see. He winces. “Oh geez, that’s embarrassing. What are you gonna do with it?”</p><p>I shove the phone back into my pocket. “Use it to get off when I can’t use you. Unless you want me to send it to your friends. Show them what a content little whore you are.”</p><p>“Don’t even joke about that!” Elliott gasps, his face turning bright red. “You’re not gonna, right?”</p><p>I laugh, leaning over him, kissing him. “Of course not. This is my little whore. How could I ever share it with another?”</p><p>Elliott wraps his legs up around my torso, pulling me against him, his cock aching for me. “Didn’t your mom ever teach you to share?” He asks, nipping my lip. I run a hand along his throat, arching his face away from mine, squeezing just enough to watch his mouth gasp open.</p><p>“I don’t enjoy sharing,” I growl. I lean up, tugging down my pants just enough to bare my cock, hard and ready to take him. “I do, however, enjoy claiming my property. And unless you want me plunging into you dry, I suggest you hand me the lube.”</p><p>I watch as he struggles with sloppily bound wrists to reach the lube on the bedside table. I roll a condom onto myself as he offers me the bottle.</p><p>“Arms back up. I want to see you spread out before me.”</p><p>He obeys, sucking in his lip while I work lube into him. I wrench his hips up, tilting him to a better angle, and start to work myself into him. The way he squirms and mewls is absolutely delicious. I grab my phone again, taking another picture of him, his ass full of my cock.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Seriously? Another one?” he moans.</p><p>“What’s the point of having such a pretty little toy if I can’t keep mementos of my time with it?” I toss the phone down next to me, gripping his hips and pulling him hard against me, his skin slapping against mine. He grimaces, sucking in his lip, rocking against the headboard with every one of my thrusts.</p><p>“C-can you jerk me off again? W-while you fuck me?” he asks, a hint of desperation in his voice.</p><p>Hearing him ask for something, instead of just being a passive recipient… It’s hotter than I would have expected. I think about how lovely he’ll look covered in both my cum and his. It would make a lovely picture.</p><p>I grip his shaft, pumping it hard in rhythm with my thrusts. He quivers under me, and his high moans grow deeper, groaning from his belly as I fuck him hard, compacting him, pressing the air out of his lungs. I can feel my orgasm nearing more quickly than I expected, try to suppress it, pumping Elliott’s cock harder.</p><p>Judging by the way he starts to moan, to gasp for air, rolling his head back and clenching his fists, I can tell he’s also nearing the edge. Hard and fast, a lovely way to end a long evening. With a breathy moan Elliott grits his teeth together, his chest raising, and empties his load into my hand.</p><p>His body melts into the mattress in relief as he gasps for breath. I pull out of him, wiping his cum onto his chest with a disgusted <em>tch</em>.</p><p>“W-what are you—You’re not done yet, are you?” Elliott asks. I slide off the condom, gripping my own cock with my cum-slick hand, grabbing my phone with the other.</p><p>“Open your mouth,” I grunt, pumping myself furiously, crawling forward over him. He obediently follows directions and I loom over him, jerking myself off, feeling that wave start to approach.</p><p>With a deep growl my load shoots onto him, splattering into his mouth, dripping down along his face. I release a held breath, muscles relaxing, and I take a final picture of him, panting and dripping in my cum.</p><p>
  
</p><p>I show him the picture with a grin, proud of my filthy little prize.</p><p>“Aw, man, I don’t wanna see that,” he objects, one eye squinted shut to keep out the trail of cum crawling along his eyelid. He makes no effort to look away, however, staring at it until I draw it back.</p><p>“Such a lovely little cumdump,” I coo, wiping it off his eye. I lean down and kiss him, licking my cum from his lips. “Now clean yourself up, you slob. What would your mother think?” I pat his cheek roughly and crawl off of him.</p><p>He leaves to go clean up while I pull my phone back out and flip through the pictures I’d taken, grinning softly as I zoom in and explore every bit of him. I will definitely enjoy these later.</p><p>My enjoyment, however, is cut short. Another text from an unknown number.</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Sweaters</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter 26</b><br/>
<em>Sweaters</em>
</p><p>“Mom… you can’t be serious.”</p><p>I’m staring at her, trying to remember if I’d actually woken up this morning or if this was still some sort of dream.</p><p>My mom is standing there, pleased as punch, holding out a pair of sweaters to both me and Alex with more pride than I can possibly fathom. Emblazoned on the chests is <i>I Love My Boyfriend.</i></p><p>“Aren’t they cute? It was a little tricky to get one in Alex’s size on such short notice,” she muses, eyeing him up and down, then holds the sweater up to him. “But I think it should fit.”</p><p>“Mom—” I start to object, but Alex takes the sweater from her with a tender touch and the most endearing smile. I have literally never seen him use it before. Which, you know. As his boyfriend, seems a little unfair.</p><p>“Thank you, Evelyn. That’s very sweet of you,” he says. And then the absolute bastard pulls his current shirt off right there in the middle of the kitchen. It isn’t fair, it really isn’t. First time I see him take off his shirt and it's in front of my <em>mother?</em> Come on. And he looks really good, too. Like, that whole dad bod thing where he’s kinda soft and kinda hard and I’m trying not to stare, but of course I am, until I realize my <em>mother</em> is also trying not to stare and having about as much success as me.</p><p>“<em>Mom!</em>” I gasp, and I think I might just die right there.</p><p>“What? Your boyfriend has a very nice figure, Elly, you should be proud!” she says with absolutely no amount of shame.</p><p>“Would you please put your shirt back on?” I whine, my entire being cringing into a tightly compacted ball of anxiety. Alex grins at me, tugging on the sweater my mom had just given him. Mom beams, reaching for him and arranging it so the words on the front are properly displayed.</p><p>“Oh, it fits nicely,” she says, tugging at the hem and smoothing the design out over his chest. She pats his cheek sweetly, and I see him flinch but bury it quickly with a smile. Mom turns to me with a matching grin. “Now you, Elly-Belly.”</p><p>“Mom—”</p><p>Alex presses the other sweater into my hands, thumbing my chin. “Put on your sweater, Elliott,” he rumbles in a way that is completely inappropriate to do in front of my mother and makes me turn about a thousand shades of red. I hastily grab it from him while she giggles (parents shouldn’t be allowed to giggle), and tug it on over top of my t-shirt. Whereas Alex’s is a little tight, mine is rather baggy. Mom tilts her head at me.</p><p>“Hm. I must have ordered the wrong size. You never did fill out quite as much as your brothers,” she muses as she picks at the billowing sleeves.</p><p>“I think he looks cute,” Alex offers.</p><p>The parade of shame is graciously interrupted by a honking of the horn outside. Mom rolls her eyes with irritated huff.</p><p>“Old badgers can wait two minutes while I get a picture of you two. Come on, scooch in!” Mom says.</p><p>She paws around in her purse for a second, pulling out her phone and fussing with it, her expression sinking deeper into irritation. Alex gently takes it from her, opens the camera, and turns it sideways.</p><p>“Thank you, dear,” she says, patting his shoulder appreciatively. “Now both of you, together. I’m going to post this on my Facebook page.” She pauses a beat, looking up at me. “Can you help me post this on my Facebook page?”</p><p>“Fine, mom, fine. Once you get back.”</p><p>She nods with satisfaction, then starts fussing with the camera again. Alex steps behind her, reaches around her to bring the camera back while she blushes and I beg for a quick death, then returns to my side. Alex wraps an arm around my waist, tugging me up against him. I heave a sigh, roll my eyes, but smile for the camera while he looks down at me with soft eyes.</p><p>
  
</p><p>The camera clicks, a car horn sounds, and my mom heaves an exaggerated sigh.</p><p>“Heaven forbid we miss the announcements about who has to bring side dishes to the potluck,” Mom mutters. She puts the phone back in her purse, then pulls both me and Alex down so she can kiss each of our cheeks in turn. “Elly, honey, would you mind picking up some flowers while I’m gone? I want to try to head to the boys’ memorial before you start work.”</p><p>“Oh, sure,” I say stiffly. She runs her thumb along my scruffy face.</p><p>“You’ll come this time?”</p><p>“Uh, maybe, I don’t know,” I mutter. Her smile falls, but she tries to mask it.</p><p>“Okay. Well you two have fun, I’ll see you after church.” She winks, then shuffles down the hall and out the door as another horn sounds, muttering about how she’s going to bring dessert to the potluck no matter what category the Ws end up in and that’s that.</p><p>I watch her close the door behind her, then immediately start to peel off the sweater. Alex grabs my wrist, pulling me against him.</p><p>“Leave it,” he purrs, wrapping his arms around me. “It’s cute.”</p><p>“You're a big scary giant boy, how are you not embarrassed by this?” I ask with a groan. He tugs me a little closer, grinding me against him.</p><p>“I enjoy focusing on your humiliation rather than pondering my own,” he grins. My knees get a little weak.</p><p>“Fine, fine, but I’m taking it off before work.”</p><p>“What else are you taking off before work?” he asks, nuzzling into my neck and planting soft kisses.</p><p>I shiver, tucking my chin into my neck. “Stop that, what if my mom comes back in?”</p><p>His hands wind down my body, gripping my ass. I wince, its surface still tender from last night. He laughs coldly, smacks my butt, and releases me. “What time do you work today?” he asks, nodding for me to follow as he heads towards the living room.</p><p>“Uh, closing shift, so not till later this afternoon. Why?” I ask, flopping into a couch while he collects a little watering can and starts tending to my mom’s plants. And it’s really cute. I’m dying, I might be actually dying. Is this what porn is? I think this might be porn.</p><p>“Thought we might grab lunch while getting those flowers your mother mentioned.” He leans down over the plant he’s watering, gently examines a few of its leaves, then moves on to another. “What memorial are they for?”</p><p>I sink lower into the couch cushions, pulling my feet up onto it, feeling my chest sink into it along with me. “Oh, uh… there’s this memorial in a local park for my brothers? Got set up after, uh, after my oldest brother went missing and then, just… you know. Added to. Mom likes us to bring flowers on, uh… on each of their birthdays. Forgets what she had for breakfast, never forgets their birthdays...”</p><p>Alex turns around, setting the watering can down. “I see. You sound reticent.”</p><p>I try to sink even lower but unfortunately there’s that pesky solid matter of the couch that gets in my way. I try to idly pay attention to cuticles that absolutely aren’t worth paying attention to. Yeesh, I really need to clean up my cuticles...</p><p>“Elliott?” Alex’s voice pulls me away from thoughts on my cuticles and whether I should be getting a manicure.</p><p>“Right. Uh, I just… things are really nice right now? Like, I’m happy? And, I know it’s important to her, but geez, I hate going there. It’s just this reminder of how messed up everything really is and how sad she is and… I dunno, it’s just a… um…”</p><p>Alex steps over to me, caressing my jaw, running a thumb across my lips. He draws my gaze up to his, and its soft and tender in ways I never would have imagined it could be back when I first met him. He doesn’t say anything. Just… I dunno, I guess he just kinda makes room in a conversation with his presence but doesn’t feel the need to fill it? Like maybe he’s saving that room for me?</p><p>I lean into his touch with a sigh. The words that got clogged in my throat find their way back out. “Maybe it just reminds me that she got stuck with the one kid who can’t prov-prev- uh, <em>take care of her</em> the way she deserves.”</p><p>Alex’s brow furrows, a look of irritation flashing across hazel green eyes. His gentle caress stiffens, and he draws his hand away, gently padding a flattened palm against my cheek.</p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous,” he rumbles as I shoot him a very confused look at his… slap? “You take excellent care of her. And it would break her heart if she knew that thought had ever crossed your mind.” He settles himself next to me on the couch, his hand spreading over my thigh, squeezing it gently.</p><p>“I mean, I just leave her here all day while I go to work—”</p><p>“At a job you took to help provide for her.”</p><p>“—And when I’m not working recently I just spend all my time with my boyfriend—”</p><p>“The existence of which brings her great joy.”</p><p>“—And I don’t even think to bring in all her plants when it starts getting cold so they don’t all die!”</p><p>He shrugs with a grin. “Well, you have me there. That was rather careless.”</p><p>I try to smile back, but it's kinda pathetic, and he notices. He draws my head towards him, kisses the top of it gently.</p><p>“I shouldn’t have teased. I just… don’t know what to say to help you,” he says, and his voice is soft enough to impart his concern at that fact. I just sigh.</p><p>“It’s okay. Some things just… can’t be fixed I guess? Probably just gotta gut up and do it, huh. It’s an okay place to go when you wanna, like… wull—uh—wallow. I just kinda wanted to stay feeling happy for—”</p><p>Alex’s phone vibrates with a ferocity befitting the man himself. His face immediately changes, melting from concern to aggravation as he digs the phone out of his pocket. He dismisses the notification without really even reading it. And immediately it buzzes again in his hand. He growls his frustration, dismissing another notification.</p><p>I’ll be honest, I’m a little tempted to peer over to his phone and see what’s up, but that look on his face isn’t exactly something I want to see turned on me. So, and I’m proud of myself for this, I do nothing.</p><p>He stands up, tossing his phone to the couch as if it has disgusted him one too many times, then heads back over to the row of plants he’d been tending to and starts… watering with more aggression than I thought was possible to display without spilling any water and still treating the plants with far more care than he tends to show me in bed.</p><p>“You good?” I ask meekly.</p><p>“It’s nothing.”</p><p>“Really? You seem kinda—”</p><p>“It’s nothing,” he snarls, jerking his head in my direction without actually looking at me.</p><p>The phone buzzes again, lighting up, and the flash of light draws my eyes to it before I can stop myself. It’s from an unknown sender, and I honestly really do try not to read the preview his phone displays.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><b>Unknown: </b>Have you ripped him apart yet? Do you make him scream your name before you…</p>
</blockquote><p>Alex snatches the phone from the couch before I realize he’s moved. I scramble back from the energy emanating from him and when I look I’m almost convinced he’s going to hit me.</p><p>“W-what the heck was that?” I stutter before I can stop myself as he shoves the phone in his pocket.</p><p>“It’s nothing,” he growls, stepping back with enough stiffness that it looks like he’s fighting against himself, forcing himself to back off.</p><p>“That… look, I didn’t mean to read it, but… that’s not nothing,” I say, looking away awkwardly before drawing my eyes up to his. “Are you okay? Geez, Alex, you…”</p><p>Had I really not noticed it before now? Shadows under his red-tinged eyes. Do his cheeks look a little gaunt? I mean, we hadn’t gotten a ton of sleep last night, but…</p><p>“You kinda look like shit,” I finish, sucking in my lip as I narrow my eyes. “Are you okay?”</p><p>He opens his mouth with a scowl, stops, and another moment of conflict inside of him. His shoulders finally drop, and he tosses the phone at me. I catch it (after a moment of very not embarrassing scrambling).</p><p>“It started yesterday morning. I finally just stopped deleting them.”</p><p>I scroll through about ten messages from an unknown number, ranging from weirdly judgey to eerily threatening, different version of a common theme: Alex and his more violent nature. I can feel my stomach churn as I read them, my fingers clutching his phone tightly despite wanting to just throw it aside and forget I ever saw it.</p><p>“What are these?” I ask quietly, unable to rip my eyes away from them.</p><p>“I… I don’t know. They’re mostly directed at me, so I guess I… wondered if any of your friends might—”</p><p>“No way,” I say immediately, holding the phone back to him. He takes it with a delicate touch. “That’s… no. How could you think any of them would do this?”</p><p>“I didn’t exactly start off on the right foot with them. I thought perhaps they might be trying to—”</p><p>“No.” I insist. And I mean it. None of them could. I mean, any of them <em>could</em>, I guess, but none of them <em>would</em>. Things had… things had gone okay yesterday.</p><p>“Makoa—” Alex tries again.</p><p>“I’m telling you, that’s not possible. Honestly, it’s kinda laughable. I’m, uh, I’m practically laughing here. Probably just some, uh, some prank? Right?”</p><p>His expression darkens as he stows his phone again.</p><p>“Yes. Maybe so…”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks to @blueneotic for the excellent inspiration to give the boys matching couple shirts. I’m obsessed! XD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Support</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter 27</b><br/>
<em>Support</em>
</p><p>I’m dragging behind as we walk to the park. My feet always just full on turn into lead on this walk and today it’s especially bad.</p><p>We used to go here a lot. Me and my brothers. We used to walk these sidewalks daily. I was always with them, always tagging along, always the loud-mouthed little brother telling jokes that didn’t make sense but stuttering his way through them anyhow.</p><p>But we started to get older. Things started to change. First my oldest brother enlisted, then it was just the three of us. He went MIA, a memorial was built. Then the next left, down to two. Another name added to the memorial. I begged my third brother not to go. Not to leave mom and me alone. It was dumb. He was an adult, he couldn’t just stay around here forever. And then he just became another name on a memorial in a park no one cared about.</p><p>This walk, this park… it just reminds me of them in ways that make my chest feel empty. They’re gone, and now it's just me and Mom and double shifts and dropping out.</p><p>“You coming, bubby?” Mom asks, glancing over her shoulder as she realizes how far back I’ve fallen.</p><p>“Yup! Sorry, just kinda lost in thought,” I say, stepping up my pace a bit. She smiles and turns back to Alex, who has been carefully keeping pace with her this whole time.</p><p>He’s holding the flowers we bought and telling my mom about each of them. What they’re called, how someone would grow them, this one time he found a nearly dead one at a nursery and brought it back through months of care.</p><p>I sigh, burying my hands in the pockets of my parka. Watching him with her feels kinda weird. I love it. I do. I mean, who woulda thought that the guy I met at the coffee shop that day could be so caring and thoughtful? If I really needed to convince Makoa he’s chill, I should just invite him to dinner some night when my mom is around.</p><p>Huh. That’s actually a pretty okay idea, I might actually do that.</p><p>The entrance to the park is a big brick arch, and the memorial is just over a rise, by the edge of the river. I can’t make my feet step past the brick barrier. I remember climbing it one time and breaking my arm. My eldest brother carried me home while I cried.</p><p>Mom realizes I’m not with them, and she turns around.</p><p>“Elly? Everything okay?”</p><p>My chest starts to feel like it's imploding. I can hear my pulse get faster as it pounds in my head, my breathing shaky. I can’t I can’t do this, I—</p><p>“Elliott.” Alex just… says my name. Doesn’t make a request or a command. Just… like he’s trying to summon me or something. I shake my head, take a step back.</p><p>“Sorry, sorry, Mom, I, uh, I think I’m gonna just wait here, okay? Yeah, I’ll just, uh, y-you go ahead,” I stammer, trying to grin through it all but just getting the impression I’m grimacing. Alex takes a step towards me with a scowl.</p><p>“This is important to her, you should come,” he rumbles. She sets a gentle hand on his arm.</p><p>“It’s okay. Here, give me the flowers, Alex, dear. You can stay with Elliott, I’ll be right back.”</p><p>He shakes his head, glowering at me. “You shouldn’t have to do it alone. I’ll go.”</p><p>And I feel like absolute shit as he gently places his hand on Mom’s back and they continue walking. And that look he gives me. Geez. It was like disgust and disappointment all rolled up in a way that wasn’t even in a hot way. Just a good old-fashioned <em>how could you do this to your mother</em> kind of way.</p><p>And it’s dumb. I know its really dumb. But I just kinda wish he’d stayed with me? Okay, like I know that makes me a terrible person or something but… I dunno. It would have been nice to have him here with me, maybe gently persuade me to go. Not for mom, but for me. Maybe I would have liked that. But that’s dumb, and I know it was better that he went with her. Ugh.</p><p>I sink against the brick pillar with a groan, sliding awkwardly down to the ground. I’m mercifully interrupted from a string of self-hating thoughts by my phone’s vibration, and it turns out to be a text from my rando. It’d been kind of a weird blossoming friendship, but you know. Fun.</p><p>
  
</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Rando:</strong> What are you up to today?<br/>
<strong>Mirage:</strong> Oh, ya know. The usual. Hiding outside a park because I’m too much of a wuss to put flowers on the memorial for my dead brothers.<br/>
<strong>Rando:</strong> Why are you hiding.<br/>
<strong>Mirage:</strong> Uh, cause it makes me feel sad things and life is sad enough and sometimes I just can’t anymore?<br/>
<strong>Mirage:</strong> I dunno i just kinda feel like shit and couldn’t… do it.<br/>
<strong>Mirage:</strong> But my boyfriend went with my mom so… i guess that’s cool.<br/>
<strong>Rando:</strong> He left you alone when you were feeling like shit?<br/>
<strong>Mirage:</strong> Well yeah i mean sure technically<br/>
<strong>Rando:</strong> Was she feeling sad?<br/>
<strong>Mirage:</strong> eh mom doesn’t really show stuff like that too much. I guess I kinda take after her?<br/>
<strong>Rando:</strong> So your BF left you to go be with her when she was fine. He doesn’t sound very supportive.<br/>
<strong>Mirage:</strong> I mean, come on that’s not what I meant.<br/>
<strong>Mirage:</strong> Besides, I really like the way he is with her<br/>
<strong>Mirage:</strong> He’s like nice and stuff and seems to look out for her. I mean, he’s nicer to her than me haha<br/>
<strong>Rando:</strong> That doesn’t sound very healthy<br/>
<strong>Mirage:</strong> No, geez, it’s fine, I didn’t mean it like that. He just has a lot of shit he’s dealing with I guess and sometimes just uh i dont know<br/>
<strong>Rando:</strong> Sounds like he takes that out on you.<br/>
<strong>Mirage:</strong> okay well lets just move on<br/>
<strong>Mirage:</strong> omg i didn’t show you mom got us these awful sweaters just a sec</p>
</blockquote><p>I take a selfie of me in the boyfriend sweater wearing a slightly pained expression, then sent it to my rando friend.</p><p>
  
</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Mirage:</strong> his says the same. they’re so dorky but she’s so proud.<br/>
<strong>Mirage:</strong> I guess she’s just kinda going all in on this whole “first boyfriend” thing<br/>
<strong>Rando:</strong> Cute. And he actually wore his?<br/>
<strong>Mirage:</strong> yeaaaah doofus put it right on<br/>
<strong>Mirage:</strong> oh hey they’re coming back, gotta go thanks for keeping me company!<br/>
<strong>Rando:</strong> Anytime.</p>
</blockquote><p>I scramble up to my feet as Alex and mom come back. He’s got her wrapped up under his arm and I can’t tell you exactly why but it… irritated me? I think?</p><p>Geez, Witt, you’re the one who didn’t want to go. You’re the one who didn’t want to be there for her. Pull yourself together.</p><p>I put on a smile, apologize, ask how it was. I can feel Alex’s glare still lingering on me but… honestly I just don’t have the energy for that right now.</p><p>We head back. I get ready for work, and once the home aid person shows up Alex and I leave. We walk in silence. And I keep telling myself there’s no reason I should be annoyed at him right now. There’s no reason I should resent him. I should really just talk to him about it. Talking is good! And he needs to get used to talking if we’re gonna date and stuff.</p><p>“You should have gone,” Alex says gruffly, totally hijacking my excellent communication goals and just, like, turning it on me. Rude.</p><p>“I couldn’t,” I say, and that sounds so dumb. “I wanted to. It’s just… hard.”</p><p>“They’re her sons.” He looks down at me with furrowed brows. “I’m sure it’s hard for her, too.”</p><p>“Yeah, but I think it’s, like, healing or something for her. Like she feels connected to them there. It’s not that for me. Besides. She had you.”</p><p>“I’m not her son. She barely knows me. It wasn’t fair to make her do that with a near stranger.”</p><p>“Well, I mean you coulda just stayed with me.”</p><p>“You were acting like a child,” Alex scoffs. “She deserved to have her son with her.”</p><p>“She deserves to have her family with her. Not just the dregs that stuck around once they left.,” I say, more bitterness in my words than I’m used to tasting. “And you were acting like a better son, anyhow, so I guess it all just works out.”</p><p>A hand grips my arm, wrenching me back. I stagger, barely catching my balance as Alex whips me around. His face is twisted up, his fingers digging into me. “Don’t be a fucking idiot,” he hisses.</p><p>“Geez, what is with you? You need to chill,” I object, trying to tug my arm back. He grips it harder as I struggle against him. “Alex, stop it, that hurts!”</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Don’t be mad at me because you’re acting selfish,” he growls.</p><p>“I’m not mad at you!” I yell, pulling back at my arm. It’s utterly pointless but at least the intent is there. “I’m not mad at you, I’m not mad at her! I’m mad at them! For leaving, for—” My throat tightens, my words cut off. “For leaving me alone to deal with everything.”</p><p>“You’re not alone,” Alex says.</p><p>“And you’re not exactly supportive,” I spit.</p><p>“I’m <em>trying</em>, Elliott,” he rumbles. “But I have enough on my plate right now to be dealing with your shit as well.”</p><p>“You don’t have a job and you go to a state school! Sorry, but you’re not exactly swimming in responsibilities. And anything else is just your own emotional baggage and paranoia that you’re cleng-clang- UGH <em>holding on to</em>. Alex, that <em>hurts!</em>” I yelp as he tightens his grip on me, tugging me, making me stumble towards him with a gasp. He lets go suddenly, takes a step back, the anger melting from his face.</p><p>“I… Sorry. Elliott, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”</p><p>“It’s fine.” I say, unable to wipe the scowl off my face, my arm still throbbing. I turn away, start striding away with hunched shoulders, shoving my hands deep in my pockets. “Come on, I’m gonna be late for work.”</p><p>I hear him draw in a shaky breath before following after me, a step behind.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay. Sorry but y’all had your allotment of fluff.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Don’t Worry... No One’s Here</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter 28</b><br/>
<em>Don’t worry… No one’s here</em>
</p><p>We don’t say anything the rest of the walk to the coffee shop. I walk a step behind him the entire way, resisting every urge to reach forward and grab his hand, wrap it in mine.</p><p>When we get there, I take a seat by the window without a word, giving him space while he takes over for the morning shift.</p><p>Over the past few days, I had become used to being here. Working on my homework, reading, texting Nat. Glancing up to catch his eye, soak in his smile as it shifted from the charismatic flirtatiousness he displayed at work to something deeper. Something he reserved for me.</p><p>But today is different. I overreacted on the way here. I shouldn’t have grabbed him. Shouldn’t have let the weight of those anonymous communications fall so heavily on me. And on him. And there’s just this awareness pressing down on me that things have changed. Or, at least, a fear that they have.</p><p>I manage to catch his eye once, try a faint smile. He hesitates, but finally returns it. It’s strained, but it's there. Christ, this kid is pure.</p><p>The coffee shop gradually empties out as the day wears on. I find little success focusing on my textbooks, but finally begin to sink into a chapter on phytochemicals when an Americano is set gently at my table. I glance up and Elliott’s giving me a rather sheepish half smile.</p><p>“Figured you might need a pick-me-up,” he says, ushering it closer.</p><p>“Thanks,” I say.</p><p>“Eh, it’s fine. I was getting bored. Needed something to do.” His voice is stiff, but he’s playing at comfort. He shifts to stand behind me, leaning forward against my back, his arms sliding down my chest. “Whatcha reading?”</p><p>I flash the front of the food science textbook. He makes a <em>blech</em> sound.</p><p>“Gross. You need a more interesting major,” he sighs. I tilt my head back to look at him, and he leans over and kisses me sweetly.</p><p>Kisses me as though we hadn’t fought. As though we hadn’t walked miles in silence on the way here. As though nothing had ever happened. He always does this. Lets things slide off of him. And here I am, drowning in the stress and weight of a dozen texts, an unreturned phone call, and years of… whatever it had been with Franklin. I wish I could just let it slide away, instead of eating into me, burrowing deep inside.</p><p>Elliott, however, could stand to hold onto things a little more tightly. I suppose I should be grateful for it, though. That’s the only way this whole thing between us ever worked in the first place. Letting things slide...</p><p>As if my thoughts had summoned it, my phone goes off. I reach for it. Elliott’s hand stops me.</p><p>“Just ignore it,” he says, sliding into the seat opposite me, his hand on mine. “You’re just letting this whole thing get you worked up.”</p><p>“Worked up?” I ask, trying to keep my tone even. The edge slices through each word betrays me. I brush away his hand, pull my phone towards me and unlock it. He sighs.</p><p>“I mean, yeah, it’s a little weird, but it’s… it’s just a thing. I’m sure it’s fine. Someone’s just messing with you. Like that lady who kept calling you. I mean, you have to admit you let other people have a big say in what your mood’s gonna be. It’s kinda ridic-redic-<em>silly.</em> Uh… Alex?”</p><p>He cocks his head at me as my expression falls, my eyes locked on the words of the newest in a string of texts.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Unknown:</strong> You can’t fool them into thinking you’re safe. Setting flowers on a grave doesn’t hide the truth. His mother should know the kind of monster her son is fucking.</p>
</blockquote><p>“Alex?”</p><p>My fingers are violently tapping a response before I even pause to think.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Alex:</strong> LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE<br/>
<strong>Unknown:</strong> Have I struck a nerve?</p>
</blockquote><p>“Alex?” Elliott tries again.</p><p>I shove the phone at him with a scowl. “You think this is fine? Just a prank? Am I being ridiculous to let this affect my mood?”</p><p>His hands fumble for the phone, eyes scanning the words. I can see his pupils dilate, see his lips tighten. He pushes the phone back at me with an affected nonchalance that doesn’t land.</p><p>“It’s… it’s probably nothing. Just… maybe you should just change your number,” he says, leaning back in his chair, as if to distance himself from the words he’d just consumed.</p><p>“Unlike you, I don’t like simply running from my problems,” I rumble. Elliott scowls, but doesn’t meet my gaze.</p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean?</p><p>“You don’t face anything. You simply let things happen to you, then back off long enough to gather yourself and slap on a happy face. So you can just pretend it’s all fine. You’re a coward.”</p><p>The coffee shop falls into silence as it swallows up my words, letting them rest heavily in Elliott’s ears. He stands, shoulders bent, and steps away from me.</p><p>“You’re being a dick right now,” he says. He turns and lets stiff strides pull him behind the counter, disappearing into the back room. With a deep-throated growl I slam the phone on top of my open textbook and I get to my feet, the chair skidding with a shriek behind me. I stomp after him, crossing the threshold to the empty back room, passing the dish sink and sanitizer machine to head into the small dry stock room. It’s really more of a closet, cramped and crowded with boxes of dry food goods and paper products.</p><p>Elliott is leaning back against the shelves against the far wall, running an anxious hand through his hair. He looks up with surprise.</p><p>“You can’t be back here.”</p><p>“We weren’t done,” I growl, stepping over a box as I approach him.</p><p>“I could get in trouble if my manager comes back, you need to—”</p><p>“No one is around to care, Elliott,” I rumble, kicking aside a sleeve of cups that had fallen down at some point.</p><p>“I mean, it’s like… uh, for insurance reasons or something. You need to leave.”</p><p>I take a final step, my feet on either side of him, looming above him as he shrinks back against the shelves.</p><p>“You honestly want to tell me that message doesn’t concern you?” I ask, towering over him. He tries to stand up straight, but I simply haven’t given him the room to.</p><p>“I don’t know! Yeah, maybe, but… You don’t know who it is. It could just be a random person messing with you.”</p><p>“They followed us, Elliott!”</p><p>“Y-yeah, but it doesn’t mean I wasn’t right about everything else. I mean, just… look at you! Look what that one thing did to you! You think this is acting normal?”</p><p>“Of course not. I’m fucking scared, Elliott. And you’re just trying to sidestep the issue.”</p><p>“I’m not! Look, yeah, those texts are kinda scary, but that’s not the main issue here. You are.” He tries to shift out of my way. I growl, pushing him back against the shelves. He tries to scramble out from under my looming form. I grab him, feel the anger roiling through me, suppress the worse parts of it. The parts that want to hit him until he listens, until he takes me seriously.</p><p>Instead I cover his lips with mine in a rush, pulling him into me. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest against his as I kiss him.</p><p>He doesn’t hesitate as his arms wrap around me, holding me as tightly as I hold him. I swirl my tongue against his, desperate to taste him, to have him, to push away everything else weighing me down and just be filled with him. It’s a distraction. I know it is. But if he wants to run from the problem, I’ll run. For now.</p><p>Elliott pulls back gently, blinking up at me as he tries to find his resolve.</p><p>“Wait, we should stop. I’m working,” he says as I kiss his neck.</p><p>“No one is here,” I murmur, pressing my lips against the corner of his. He parts his own hungrily and I’m more than willing to fit mine into his. I kiss him with more passion, grinding him against me. His little sounds, hushed in my mouth, are adorable.</p><p>“Alex, you can’t just… mmm… can’t just try to f-fuck me every time you…” His words fail him as I slide my hands down from his jaw along his neck, fingers dancing against its surface, pressing slightly.</p><p>“Shut up, Elliott,” I growl, nipping at his ear, flicking my tongue along its inner folds. He moans, the vibrations of his throat rumbling against my hand. I press a little harder to feel them more closely.</p><p>“Mmm… A-Alex… I seriously need to get back to work.” He sounds less than serious. I press myself against him, can already feel him starting to get hard against me.</p><p>“Then leave,” I murmur, kissing his neck, tracing paths of the hickies I left the night before. His hands drift down my body haltingly, as if he’s trying to resist me, even as his hand runs along my crotch. I rock into him as he grips me gently.</p><p>He doesn’t make any attempt to leave, his weak protestations fading as I kiss him deeply, drawing him into me, running my hands under the hem of his shirt, up along the soft skin of his back. He starts to kiss me back harder, encircling my neck with his arms, my hair falling from its restraint as he twists it in his fingers. The light tug at my scalp fills me with fire. My hands fall to the fastening of his jeans, and immediately he makes to stop me.</p><p>“W-wait, hey,” he objects, his voice breathy, unconvincing. “Making out is one thing, but—”</p><p>I unzip his pants, rubbing him through the opening. He bites back his gasp.</p><p>“H-hold on, what if someone is out there?”</p><p>“Then I suggest we make it fast,” I rumble, unfastening my own jeans, freeing my erection. I slide his pants down to his knees and hoist him up against me, his phone clattering out of his pocket and onto the soft surface of a cardboard box. He scrambles against the shelves, trying to grip onto something, support himself. His face screws up tightly as the tip of my cock presses against his hole.</p><p>“Ouch, that h-hurts,” he grimaces. “Alex, wait.”</p><p>With annoyance I spit in one hand, supporting his weight with one arm, sliding the wetness against his asshole. He moans weakly as I finger him, his voice fading. I press myself against him once more, the slickness barely enough to begin to ease my tip into him.</p><p>“A-alex… fuck,” he moans. “Someone could hear us, we should stop.”</p><p>I thrust up into him roughly, his rim gripping me tightly, barely slick skin dragging against my shaft. He yelps, and I press my hand over his mouth.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“If you don't want anyone to hear, perhaps you shouldn’t be so loud,” I growl. He whines softly into my hand as I work myself into him with little thrusts.</p><p>It feels… good. To have this one little piece of control back. I can feel the stress begin to melt away, feel the tension in my shoulders ease as my concerns fade away, as my world becomes shoving this cringing, panting piece of ass against a stockroom shelf. I take my hand off his mouth, spit on my fingers again, rub them along my shaft before sliding back into him. His mouth opens to cry out but he stifles the sound himself.</p><p>I can hear him, whimpering weakly, gasping protests, but it's distant. Vague. Inconsequential. My heartbeat pulses loud in my ears, drowning out whatever he thinks he has to say. Hastened thrusts shut him up for a moment, and just the dull shifting of cardboard behind him and the soft sound of my skin hitting his drifts through the stockroom.</p><p>
  
</p><p>Elliott’s hands grip at my chest, clutching handfuls of fabric, trying to push away from me. Without his extra support gripping the shelves he starts to slip down further onto my cock and cries out again.</p><p>“Alex, stop,” he gasps, pressing against my chest again. “Please, ahh, s-stop...”</p><p>I could tell him how pathetic his protestations sound, how undermined they are by the lewd moans he can’t hold back. But I don’t feel the need to say anything. I fuck him harder, the tightness of his dry rim making the growl in my throat deep and heavy. Nothing matters right now. Nothing matters but fucking this thing raw.</p><p>I can deal with the rest later.</p><p>He slips down again, scrambling to catch himself. I grip his ass with both my hands, pulling him up and down along my length, feeling that rise in me.</p><p>“Alex, please,” he moans, his voice quaking, so much more desperate a tone than before. It gives me pause before thrusting my cock in deeper. “Stop. Please, stop.”</p><p>I’m almost there, I don’t want to. I shouldn’t need to.</p><p>“D-don’t make me regret trusting you!” he gasps in a sob. The tone wrenches me from my haze and my sight clears to see the eyes staring up at me in horror, tears etching their way down his face. My stomach drops, disbelief that I had missed the change, wondering when I had stopped listening.</p><p>I lift him off of me, settling him onto his feet as I step back, pulling my jeans back up as he sinks to the floor, his knees to his chest, his head buried in his arms.</p><p>“Elliott, I—” I start, stepping towards him.</p><p>“Just leave,” he sobs, his shoulders shaking.</p><p>“I didn’t realize you… Elliott—”</p><p>A text tone sounds, cutting off my words. Elliott glances with a heavy sniff to where his phone had landed, sitting on the top of a cardboard box, its surface lit up with the display of a new text.</p><p>His eyes go wide, dart up past me in horror. He scrambles to his feet with a grimace, pulling his jeans back up with trembling fingers. I reach down for the phone.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Rando:</strong> Aww why did you make him stop? I was enjoying the show.</p>
</blockquote><p>I spin around, heart racing. I tear through the back room into the coffee shop proper. My eyes scan the surroundings as I try to breathe. It’s still deserted, silent, unobtrusive acoustic music droning in the background. No sign of anyone, no darting movement on the streets outside the windows.</p><p>My eyes fall on the table where I’d been sitting, my books still spread out over its surface, a now cold Americano untouched. But something is missing.</p><p>My phone is gone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. Pictures</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey, I got some new content warnings for y’all.</p><p>-Homophobic slur<br/>-Revenge Porn</p><p>Okay, that’s it, love y’all. :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter 29</b><br/>
<em>Pictures</em>
</p><p>Whoever had been there was long gone by now. But why steal my phone? I paw around under my books, under the table, make sure I haven’t missed anything. It’s just… gone.</p><p>I head into the back room to check on Elliott, but he’s not there. I catch sight of him disappearing into the bathroom and follow. As I press open the door, he’s bent over the sink, water running without being put to use. He glances up, seeing my reflection in the mirror, and turns off the tap but doesn’t turn around.</p><p>And there’s something about his presence that’s… different. What happened wasn’t sliding off. He wasn’t gathering himself up to put on a happy, sweet, comforting face as he usually did. He’s distant. He’s hurt. He’s angry.</p><p>He’s everything he should have been.</p><p>“No one was there by the time I got out,” I say quietly, nodding back towards the entrance. He doesn’t say anything, just stares down into the sink. “I think they might have taken my phone. I can’t find it, and—”</p><p>“I don’t care, Alex,” Elliott sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. His voice is harsh, flat.</p><p>“Elliott, someone was there. Someone saw us. Someone took my phone.”</p><p>Elliott spins around to face me. “I don’t care! I just don’t care anymore, okay? Just… just leave me alone.”</p><p>I step towards him with a scowl. “Are you trying to tell me none of that concerns you?”</p><p>“I told you it wouldn’t happen again. I w-w-warned you. And you just… I can’t. I tried, Alex, but maybe that person’s right. I don’t think you’re safe.”</p><p>I hear the words, but my mind doesn’t process them. I just stand there, staring dumbly at him, waiting for my brain to catch up. It’s a thing I’m not accustomed to feeling.</p><p>“I… I’m sorry. Elliott, I didn’t mean to—” I reach for him but he jerks away.</p><p>“Don’t touch me.”</p><p>“I just want to talk about what—”</p><p>His hand swings up as he slaps me. I barely feel it, but it stings regardless. I step back, eyes wide. He looks about as startled as I am, but regains his composure and turns away, arms wrapped tightly across his chest.</p><p>“Just leave.”</p><p>I take another step back, feeling my chest hollow. “Okay. Okay, I will. Do you want me to walk you home after work?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>My breath doesn’t come. I just turn, leave Elliott and my textbooks and any hope for happiness behind.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>I return to my dorm room that night for the first time in a while. B acknowledges my presence but does little more than that. Judging from their reaction, I assume Elliott hadn’t told anyone what had happened.</p><p>Of course he hadn’t. He never does. He just collects his pain and his trauma and stores it neatly inside, avoiding memorials that make him sad and threaten to spill the tidy little package of pain he carries with him.</p><p>The next day, I go to my classes without really hearing any of the lectures. I need to talk to Elliott. Figure out what to do. How to fix this. Hating myself.</p><p>I just want this all to be over. I just want to stop hurting everyone. And if things really are over with Elliott… then maybe I just need to leave. Go back home. Leave this one place of safety for him.</p><p>As soon as classes let out I make my way to the coffee shop. Hoping he’s there. Hoping he’ll listen.</p><p>I step inside from the chill winter air to a shop that’s moderately busy. Elliott, however, isn’t at the front. His manager is frantically taking orders and making drinks. She looks frazzled, yes, but there’s something in the way she moves. She’s distracted. Concerned. She’s asking people to repeat orders, and staring at cups for a little too long before making the drink.</p><p>I let her line die down, let her deal with a few of the orders lined up, before I approach the counter. As she glances up, the tension in her shoulders ease and she sighs in relief.</p><p>“Oh thank God. You’re the boyfriend, right? How’s he doing?” she asks.</p><p>“I’m sorry?”</p><p>“Elliott. I’ve been worried sick about the kid.” She hesitates, watching my confused expression. A horrible realization starts to spread over her features as she shrinks back. “Oh. Do you... not know? Shit, I… Sorry, I just assumed you would have been with him already after… Did he not even tell you?”</p><p>“I haven’t seen him today. What happened?” I ask, my chest collapsing as she starts to glance around in discomfort. My mind starts to fabricate what her words could mean. It immediately goes to Evelyn. I wonder if something happened...</p><p>“Oh shit. I don’t really… maybe you should just… call him,” she says, glancing towards the door, desperately hoping a customer will come save her from this interaction.</p><p>“I can’t, my phone disappeared yesterday.”</p><p>Her eyes light up, and she jumps on the chance for a distraction from the previous line of discussion.</p><p>“Oh, is this it? Some guy in a wheelchair turned it in this morning, said he’d found it under his table.” She pulls a phone out from underneath the counter. It’s mine.</p><p>I narrow my eyes. “A wheelchair?”</p><p>“Yeah. Look, I gotta finish making these drinks. You should, uh… you should really find Elliott.”</p><p>She immediately twists a portafilter into the espresso grinder and the shop is filled with the whir of grinding beans, giving me no chance to continue the conversation.</p><p>I turn away, looking at my phone, confused. It’s absolutely filled to the brim with notifications. From a brief glance, the group chat has exploded, and I have five missed calls from Natalie, and even one from Evelyn. What in the hell?</p><p>I open the group chat. Nausea rolls through me as I understand what’s happening. I just stare, understanding but not comprehending. Because an hour ago, I apparently sent the group chat a message with three attachments.</p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Alex:</strong> Your friend is quite the slut.</p>
  <p>
    
  </p>
</blockquote><p>I stare at the screen, sick, unable to look away. There’s a stream of messages below it but I’m not given the chance to read them, even if I wanted to.</p><p>“You son of a bitch,” a voice booms from behind me. I spin around to find a furious Makoa pounding towards me. I shove the phone in my back pocket and I’m about to ask him where Elliott is, just before realizing talking isn’t going to be an option.</p><p>He grabs a fistful of my sweater and charges me back to the wall, his forearm against my chest. He slams me against the wall, paintings shudder at the impact.</p><p>“Hey hey hey, outside, boys, take it outside!” the manager yells from behind the bar.</p><p>“I told him to stay away from you,” Makoa snarls, his face an inch from mine. I can feel the eyes of everyone in the front of the shop staring at us. Staring at me. Judging me for something they don’t even know. Everything in me is screaming to push him back, to punch him, to defend myself. Protect yourself, Alexander. Look out for <em>yourself.</em></p><p>But this isn’t about me. This is about Elliott. And I’ve fucked up so much with him. I just… want to do what I can to help. For once.</p><p>I raise my hands, wipe my face free of anger. “It wasn’t me, Makoa,” I say. I want to sound resolute, strong. But my voice shakes. “I swear it wasn’t me.”</p><p>It takes him off guard. He hesitates. I can feel the pressure lessen from my chest, but I keep still, don’t take advantage of it.</p><p>“I swear,” I repeat. “I would never. I didn’t—”</p><p>“Yeah, and why should I trust you, huh?” he asks, but I can hear the resolve wavering in that baritone of his.</p><p>“Someone stole my phone. I only just got it back.”</p><p>“That part’s true,” the manager pipes in. “I just gave it back to him. I got that text at least an hour or two ago.”</p><p>I look past Makoa to her. “Wait, they sent it to you?”</p><p>“To everyone,” Makoa says, his arm falling from my chest. He shifts back, but not enough to give me room to comfortably extricate myself from his presence. “The group chat, each of us individually, to his manager, to…” Makoa hesitates. “To his mom.”</p><p>“Holy fuck,” I breathe.</p><p>“Maybe more, we don’t know. We all came here straight away but he was already gone. He’s not answering his—”</p><p>“Makoa, wait!”</p><p>Natalie comes sprinting from another room, launching herself at Makoa, clinging to his arm as if to weigh down a punch that was in no way being thrown. He looks down at her in confusion.</p><p>“What you doin’, Nat?” he asks.</p><p>“Don’t punch him!” she gasps. “He didn’t do it! I <em>know</em> he didn’t!”</p><p>My heart swells about five times its size, watching her try to defend me from a threat that had passed. Makoa doesn’t try to shake her loose, just takes another step back to show her he’s no longer a threat. She immediately shifts her arm-clutch from him to me.</p><p>“So if you didn’t, then who did?” Makoa asks.</p><p>Someone had been texting me for days. And I realize the “random” friend Elliott had been texting was likely the same person.</p><p>My mind shifts to a call Elliott had convinced me not to take. A voicemail had been left. I hadn’t even listened to it. I pull out my phone, call my voicemail. Listen to Mrs. Humbert tell me her son is awake. He’s fine. Everything is going to be fine.</p><p>Just as the message ends, I get another text.</p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Unknown:</strong> Now everyone can see your filthy little whore. Who do you think it will disturb most? His friends? His professors? My bet’s on his mother.<br/>
<strong>Unknown: </strong>Can you imagine realizing your precious baby is such a cum loving faggot?</p>
</blockquote><p>I clench my hand, knuckles popping, trying to control my anger. Trying not to destroy another phone.</p><p>“Who… who sent that?” Natalie’s voice is tiny, minuscule. I hadn’t realized she was peering at my phone.</p><p>I don’t answer. Just slowly type in the name.</p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Alex:</strong> Franklin?<br/>
<strong>Unknown:</strong> Took you long enough to realize. Has a week of state school degraded your mind that much?</p>
</blockquote><p>My hands are shaking, the phone tumbles out of my grasp. Natalie catches it, sliding it into my pocket without looking at the conversation.</p><p>“I need to find Elliott,” I say. “I need him to know it wasn’t me. I… need to make sure he’s okay.”</p><p>“He hasn’t been answering his phone. Maybe he went home?” Natalie offers.</p><p>“We should split up. Check a few different places,” Makoa says. “Few of us can stay here, some can check the campus, some can go to his place.”</p><p>“You two check his house,” Natalie says, releasing her grip on my arm. “I’ll get everyone else coordinated.”</p><p>Makoa nods. “Let’s head out, brudda,” he says, clapping my shoulder. I start to follow him, but hesitate, turning back to Natalie.</p><p>“I didn’t send them,” I say weakly. She squeezes my hand in acknowledgement, and Makoa and I leave.</p><p>We walk in silence, Makoa leading the way to Elliott’s. He has clearly been there before. The silence is terrible, leaving room for my mind to conjure up those images I’d taken of him, imagining how he must have felt to see them posted. To see my name emblazoned as the offender.</p><p>And just the day after we’d fought. After he’d finally stood up for himself. Did he realize I hadn’t sent them? Did he think I did it out of spite? Out of anger? A desire to humiliate and retaliate?</p><p>“So,” Makoa says after a while, graciously breaking my thoughts. “Elliott had a talk with me Saturday. After he convinced everyone in the group to give you a second chance. Told me everything.”</p><p><em>Everything.</em> The word grips my heart tightly. “Everything?”</p><p>“Everything,” he repeats, his voice deep and dark. But restrained. We walk side by side, neither looking at the other. “He didn’t want anyone else to know, though, so I kept my mouth shut.” He stops suddenly, pressing his fingers against my chest. I resist the urge to push him away. “Somethin’ else happen between you two last night?”</p><p>I take a steadying breath. If Makoa already knew what Elliott’s and my relationship had looked like thus far, lying to him now won’t help anything. I nod slowly. “The person who took my phone, who sent the texts. He’d been texting me for the past few days from an unknown number. It… I was letting it affect me more than I should have. He called me out on it, and we fought.”</p><p>“And?” Makoa pressed.</p><p>“I… I thought it was fine. It started out fine. But… I went too far.”</p><p>“Again.”</p><p>“... Yes.”</p><p>Makoa shakes his head, suppressing the fury, keeping it locked in his eyes and out of his fists. “You don’t deserve that boy.”</p><p>“... I know.”</p><p>“You promise me something right now, okay? When we find him, if he’s finally come to his senses and wants out… you let him go without a word, yeah? You don’t ever talk to him again.”</p><p>The thought of it, of never seeing him again… it’s something I’d already prepared myself for, but the thought of it doesn’t hurt any less. “I understand.”</p><p>He nods, and we continue on in silence.</p><p>As we near Elliott’s house, I see his mother on the porch, wrapped up in a heavy coat, eyes scanning the streets, clutching her phone to her chest. Her aid is by her side, leaning down and saying something to her, gesturing to the door.</p><p>Evelyn’s eyes fall on me and she immediately stands.</p><p>“Alex!” she shuffles down the porch steps and rushes to me, pulling me into a hug. Makoa watches with surprise, and I can feel the tense energy from him softening as I return her embrace.</p><p>“Evelyn, I didn’t—” My voice catches in my throat.</p><p>“I know, baby, I know,” she assures, reaching up and laying a hand against my beard, her thumb stroking my cheek. I haven’t shaved, the skin is rough with stubble, her skin catching against it. Her eyes drift to Makoa and with a gentle pat on my cheek she pulls back.</p><p>“Have either of you heard from Elliott?” she asks. “He won’t answer my calls, and now they just go to voicemail. I think he turned off his phone?”</p><p>“We were hoping he might be here,” Makoa says, hugging her gently and stepping back.</p><p>“No, I’ve been on the porch since I got the… I haven’t seen him. My poor baby, he must be so… You boys are going to find him? He’ll be okay?”</p><p>“We’ll find him,” Makoa assures her. “He’s always such a happy kid. I don’t know what he does when he’s not. Where he’d go. Do you have any idea, Mrs. Witt?”</p><p>“I… no, no, I don’t. I would have thought he would seek out one of you boys.”</p><p>“I know where he is,” I say softly. They both look at me. I lay a hand on Makoa’s arm, nod down the street. “Come on.”</p><p>I could be wrong. But I know a place he avoids when he’s happy. A place that reminds him of better times. And how those times have passed. He’s at the memorial. He must be.</p><p>We head there without a word. We pass the brick arch, step over the rise, feel the icy wind blowing in off the river.</p><p>A stone memorial stands, small in size and yet monolithic, two bouquets draped over top it. A bench rests behind it, and a single, calm figure sits at one end, staring out at the water.</p><p>
  
</p><p>Makoa and I freeze, relief flooding through both of us. I step back, usher him ahead, but he shakes his head.</p><p>“Go. I’ll let his mom know we found him,” Makoa says softly, a hand on my shoulder. “You be good to that boy, yeah?”</p><p>I nod. He pats my chest, then heads back to Elliott’s house. I turn back to Elliott, draw the frigid air into my lungs, and step towards him.</p><p>Without a word, I sit at the other end of the bench. I steal a glance at him, but he’s staring resolutely ahead, his expression soft, resigned. His cheeks and nose are red from the cold, his eyes puffy from crying. His tears have long since dried and he’s just… calm.</p><p>I just sit there, breathing in rhythm with him, staring at the flowers on the memorial fluttering gently in the breeze. After what feels an eternity, Elliott finally speaks.</p><p>“You know… for like a minute I really thought you’d done it,” he says, his voice flat.</p><p>“What changed your mind?”</p><p>He laughs a little coldly. “Uh, honestly? I figured if you were mad you’d just take it out on me directly. Wasn’t quite your style.”</p><p>“Everyone’s been worried about you. You weren’t answering your phone.”</p><p>“Heh, yeah… all the calls and messages got a little overwhelming. I just… couldn’t deal with everyone yet.” He groans, leaning forward and burying his face in his hands. “Everyone saw. Everyone. He sent them to my mom, Alex. To my boss. It’s… I mean, fuck. Do you have any idea how that feels?”</p><p>I don’t say anything. I want to just grab him and pull him into my arms and kiss him, tell him everything will be okay, that no one cares. But I lost that right. If it’s something he even wants anymore, I know I can’t be the one to initiate it.</p><p>“Who would do that?” he mutters, his voice shaking. “Why would anyone want to do that to me?”</p><p>
  
</p><p>“The person texting me… the one texting you. The one who stole my phone and sent out those pictures… I think it’s Franklin.”</p><p>Elliott looks up in confusion. “Your ex? I thought he was in the hospital.”</p><p>“So did I. I got a message from his mother, saying he was awake. I just… I don’t know how he’s here. He can’t have been released yet, but… He must be just trying to get to me through you.”</p><p>He sighs, straightening up, running his hand back through his hair and staring back out at the water. “I really do get all the worst parts of you, huh? Doesn’t seem fair.”</p><p>“It isn’t. You deserve better,” I say softly, clenching my fists on my thighs to keep from reaching out to him. Holding him.</p><p>“Yeah. I do.”</p><p>“Should I go?”</p><p>He glances over at me, red eyes conflicted as they lock on mine. “No. Stay. Just a while longer.”</p><p>He shifts along the bench until his knee touches mine. He doesn’t lean into me, doesn’t say another word. Just sits there by my side, the smallest touch, the smallest indication that he doesn't want me gone. Not yet.</p><p>It’s more than I deserve. Nothing I expected. Hope that he can still forgive me, at least once more. Hope that I can actually become better for him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. Franklin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter 30</b><br/>
<em>Franklin</em>
</p><p>We sit there for a long time. Saying nothing, just staring out at the water as the sky gradually dips into a soft indigo. The street lamps flicker on, casting a warm light behind us. The soft, steady movement of the river, pressing cold air against us, begs us to stay, to sit here forever as we watch the rhythm of its flow.</p><p>But we can’t stay here forever.</p><p>“I should get you home,” I finally say, starting to lay my hand on his leg before catching myself, closing my fist, and returning it to my lap.</p><p>He pretends like he didn’t notice, heaves a sigh, and nods. “Yeah, I guess.”</p><p>“I can leave you alone, too, if you’d prefer,” I say as we both stand. He mulls it over for a moment, then shakes his head.</p><p>“You can at least walk me home.”</p><p>We’ve barely make it past the arch when I get a text. It’s from Franklin. Not an unknown number, just him.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><strong>Franklin:</strong> We need to talk. 30 minutes.</p>
</blockquote><p>He sends me an address. I show Elliott without a word.</p><p>“That’s close. Uh, it’s a motel, I think. Closer to campus,” he says. He stops walking, looks up at me with resolution as I turn to face him. “Don’t go.”</p><p>I look down at the message again. I shake my head. “I need to just… end this. I don't think I can handle any more. He’s been looming over me for years, Elliott. I’ve got to end it.”</p><p>His shoulders sink, but he nods. “Fine. B-but I’m coming, too.”</p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m taking you home. This is between him and me.”</p><p>“This isn’t just about the two of you anymore, Alex. Today he made it about me, too. I’m going,” he says, his voice firm, determined. He’s not cowering anymore, not afraid to push back. He found his voice.</p><p>I snicker to myself at the thought. The most loquacious man I’ve ever met, and he finally found his voice. The irony is obnoxious.</p><p>I start to reach for him again, and again stop myself. “You’re right. Fine. Can you tell Makoa where we’re headed? Just in case?”</p><p>He turns his phone back on and starts to text his friend, cringing as the unreceived notifications from the past hour start pouring in. I rub my temple wearily, tell Franklin I’m on my way, and start to call his mother.</p><p>It rings three times, and I almost think she won’t pick up. But finally the tone stops, and from the distant sound of speakerphone and the drone of what sounds like the interstate, her voice cuts in.</p><p>“Alexander? Is that you?”</p><p>“Hello, Mrs. Humbert.”</p><p>“Is Franklin with you?” Her voice is frantic, tinged with hope at the sound of my voice.</p><p>“Not yet. I’m about to meet him. How did you—”</p><p>“He left the hospital yesterday. He just vanished. He must have paid off some nurse to help him,” she explains, irritation in her voice.</p><p>“I see. I just wanted to let you know he was here. I assumed you might be worried.”</p><p>“Where are you now? We tracked his card payments and realized he must have been headed to you. We’re almost there.”</p><p>Surprised, I give her the address Franklin mentioned, tell her I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.</p><p>“Alexander… thank you. I… I’m sorry for—”</p><p>“It’s fine, Mrs. Humbert. Drive safe.” I hang up without waiting for a response, then turn to Elliott. “You know the place?”</p><p>“Uh, yeah. Come on,” he says, and we start to walk.</p><p>His presence beside me is… complicated. It hurts to be this close and yet distant. My hand aches with the desire to grasp his, to draw him to me. After what happened today, I just want to keep him safe, to hold him and never let another near him.</p><p>The truth, though, is just as he said. I’m the one who isn’t safe. If I want to protect him, it needs to first be from myself.</p><p>“What are you gonna do?” Elliott asks softly, pulling me from my thoughts. “When you get to Franklin, I mean. What are you gonna say to him?”</p><p>I shake my head. “I… don’t know.”</p><p>“Are you ready to see him again? After… everything that happened?”</p><p>The tenderness in his voice is what kills me. He’s the only person I ever told about what happened between Franklin and myself. He’s the only person who truly understands what seeing him again will mean. How it might feel.</p><p>“I don’t know,” I say again. I feel like an idiot. I want to talk with him so badly, tell him how I‘m feeling. About Franklin, about me, about him. But that acknowledgement of uncertainty is all I can muster. Everything is uncertainty. Everything is out of my control. All I can do is just take one step at a time and hope it will be the right one.</p><p>Through the corner of my eye, I see Elliott’s hand twitch, fingers start to reach towards mine. It is only for the briefest moment before he buries them in his pocket. I try not to let my disappointment show.</p><p>“Oh. Hey,” Elliott says, his voice suddenly bright. “Hold on a second.”</p><p>He stops, pulls a hair tie out of his pocket, and steps behind me. His fingers twist up into my hair, drawing it together and restraining it.</p><p>“I found this in the stock room. Musta fallen out of your hair.” He gives it a quick tug to tighten it, his fingers skimming my neck briefly as he pulls away. It might have been accidental... Either way, it sends chills down my spine and makes me long for more.</p><p>“Thank you,” I say, tenderly touching the hair restraint. He doesn’t look up at me, but I can see the small smile twisting at the corner of his lips.</p><p>Before long, we turn a corner, cross a street, and the motel sits nestled between two other businesses, an ancient neon sign towering above its two levels. The parking lot is fairly well deserted. In the crook of the building’s left wing, a door opens. A man in a wheelchair exits the room, letting the door close behind him. He looks up to face me and waits for us to approach, a dark expression mixed with an amused grin painting his familiar face.</p><p>
  
</p><p>My feet stop moving. My legs freeze up, and it feels like I’ve never walked a day in my life, like I could not possibly figure out how to take another step.</p><p>“You don’t have to do this,” Elliott says quietly.</p><p>No. No, I can’t make him do this again. I can’t put him in this position, where he needs to comfort <em>me</em> and give <em>me</em> strength.</p><p>“Yes, I do,” I say, determination giving my words purchase in a heart that only half believes myself.</p><p>I take a step. And with him by my side, the remaining steps don’t feel quite so daunting.</p><p>As we near Franklin, my heart catches. After the accident, I hadn’t been allowed to see him. I had assumed it was bad. Between the fire and the explosion and the fumes… images of Franklin lying on the floor as I reached for him. I blink them away, focus myself on the man before me.</p><p>He’s the same confident, beautiful man I had fallen in love with, just… slightly off. His face is gaunt, his skin sallow, and perhaps it's the glow of the streetlights and the neon sign looming above us, but his complexion looks sickly. His hair is a little longer, a little less well-groomed. He’s warmly dressed, but the bits of skin I can see suggest heavy burn scars. He has an oxygen tank, but the mask hangs off his neck.</p><p>But his eyes are the same. Bright, keen, observing everything with intense scrutiny. And judging it all ruthlessly.</p><p>I remember the way his eyes would change as he slipped into subspace. I could grow drunk on that change, watching him trust me enough to relinquish that analytical eye and just observe it fade into nothingness.</p><p>Franklin’s eyes drift over me, taking in my form as we approach him. We stop a few steps away, maintaining a small distance. His eyes linger as he notices the hairstyle.</p><p>“That’s new,” he says, his voice rough, I’m sure from both disuse and recently removed tubes. I barely hear it over the whine of the towering street lights. His attention turns to Elliott, a step behind me. His eyes narrow, but his smile spreads. “And there’s your little twink. I love your work, kid. Though I’ll be honest, your face looks prettier covered in his cum.”</p><p>“That’s enough, Franklin,” I growl, taking a step towards him. He laughs, but it turns hoarse as it mutates into a hacking cough. He grimaces, collects himself. The sound stops me in my tracks, I shift back again. I take a breath, try to keep myself calm.</p><p>“Did you like my texts?” Franklin asks. “A little bit dramatic, but whenever I could eek out a response it was worth it.”</p><p>“Why did you come here?” I ask, trying to ignore his attempts to goad me. He always knew just what to say to get me angry. I need to show him I’ve changed. I need to show Elliott.</p><p>“Imagine my surprise upon waking to find out not only has my boyfriend moved, but he’s already replaced me with a new little toy to suck his cock.”</p><p>“I couldn’t stay, Franklin. Your parents wouldn’t even let me see you. I wasn’t wanted there,” I say, carefully picked words, suppressing anger, suppressing the desire to just bash that oxygen tank over his head after what he did.</p><p>“<em>I</em> wanted you there!” Franklin spits, leaning forward in his chair. He realizes himself, grimaces, and settles back. “I guess it shouldn’t surprise me. You never were good at being alone.”</p><p>“Why are you here, Franklin?” I ask again. “What do you hope to accomplish with this? Are you trying to win me back? I’ll be honest, it isn’t an incredibly successful attempt thus far.”</p><p>“Win you back? I’m giving you the <em>opportunity,</em> Alexander.”</p><p>My brows furrow into a scowl. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“Come back with me. Back to HU. You aren’t meant to finish your studies at a state school. Come back.”</p><p>“Perhaps you haven’t been updated,” I say quietly. “I was expelled. I couldn’t go back, Franklin. Even if I wanted to.”</p><p>“I always said I would protect you. I always told you we were untouchable. I meant it.” His eyes soften, that arrogance melting away to something more authentic. A yearning. He rolls his chair forward, leaning towards me, everything in his body to show him reaching for me without extending a hand. “I can make that all go away.”</p><p>The prospect of returning… of just… going back to the way things were. A degree from HU, redemption with the connections I had made there… it would be everything. It would assure my future, my career. And perhaps I had viewed my past with Franklin unfairly. I had truly loved him. Maybe, if we tried again…</p><p>Elliott’s hand presses gently against my back. Gentle, yes, but firm. The reminder of him, the touch of him, it rips me back to the present. To reality. The hope of that future fades into the stark truth of what Franklin and I were to one another. Of what he encouraged in me. What I let myself become.</p><p>I look down at Elliott. He doesn’t seem so small, even though I tower over him. His eyes are questioning, supporting, warning, hoping. I give him a smile. He returns it.</p><p>“I’m not going back,” I say, resolution finding its way into my voice, channeled from the hand on my back. “We were bad for one another, Franklin. And we were both too wrapped up in ourselves to see it.”</p><p>He looks like I punched him. Aghast, like he couldn’t quite fathom that I was turning him down. He had been certain I couldn’t resist an offer to return to the school that would set my career. His face twists up in an anger that’s desperately trying to cover up the pain. “I gave everything to you,” he gasps, his voice quaking. “I was just trying to make you happy.”</p><p>“I know,” I say. “And I’m sorry.”</p><p>Franklin’s face screws up in pure fury, his chair lurching forward. “I should have just fucking <em>died</em> in that lab, then! Is that what you want?” he screams, hands gripping the arms of his chair. “Would that have been enough to prove to you that I care?”</p><p>“We’re done here. Go home, Franklin,” I say, wishing I didn’t feel as much pity for him as I did. Wishing I could stop his pain. I start to turn away.</p><p>“We’re <em>not</em> done, Alexander! We’re <em>never</em> going to be done! I just wanted to help you, you idiot. I can do so much more to that fucking little whore than show the world his asshole. I’ll fucking ruin him.”</p><p>I spin back towards him, and in two steps I’m looming over him, before his expression even has time to change. I kick his chair back, and with a clatter it collides back with the closed door of his room. I grab his coat, start to wrench him up with a snarl, a haze of anger coating my senses.</p><p>“Alex, stop!”</p><p>I hear Elliott’s voice cutting through the haze, distant but clear. Franklin hangs helplessly from my grasp, weak hands scrambling against my arm, trying to free himself from my grip. And for the first time since I’ve known him, I think I see real fear cross his face.</p><p>And I must admit, I enjoy it.</p><p>“He doesn’t deserve restraint,” I hiss, tilting my head to Elliott. My fingers grip Franklin tighter, shaking him. “You don’t deserve my pity,” I growl, furious eyes darting back to him.</p><p>“Alex…” Elliott entreats, his voice quiet.</p><p>I look from Elliott to Franklin, feeling that anger rising. Angry at Elliott for being willing to just… let it go. Angry at Franklin for pushing us to the brink. Angry at myself for letting him.</p><p>I don’t want to let it go. I want to hold onto this anger. Make him pay. Make him suffer how Elliott suffered.</p><p>But I make a choice. I let him go, watch him fall back into his chair, coughing furiously. I step back, my arms starting to shake.</p><p>My snarl slips, anger fading into desperation as I turn to Elliott. “He deserves to pay for what he did to you.”</p><p>“Yeah. Maybe,” Elliott says softly. “But that’s not your call to make, Alex. I get to choose whether I’m mad. I g-g-get to choose that. Not him. Not you. And I just don’t wanna have that kind of anim-anum-anmos—that kind of a grudge just hanging over me.”</p><p>“Christ, he even has a speech impediment. You really scraped the bottom of the barrel with that one, Alexander,” Franklin scoffs, his voice still hoarse, still shaking. Elliott steps towards him before I have a chance to.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“You don’t scare me,” Elliott says, his voice even and true. “You already did your worst. It only brought my friends closer together. You don’t have anything that can hurt us.”</p><p>Franklin’s face twists into a snarl. “You don’t know what he is. You don’t know what he’s <em>really</em> like.” He flings an accusatory finger in my direction and he just seems so… frail. So desperate. Trying to scrape any bit of control back, trying to gain any glimpse of an upper hand. “He’s a monster. He’ll destroy you. He can’t help himself. Eventually he’ll show you his worst, and—”</p><p>“I already know what he is,” Elliott says, his brows furrowing. “I’ve already seen his worst. And that doesn’t scare me, either.”</p><p>
  
</p><p>Elliott slides his fingers into my palm, intertwining them with my own, squeezing tightly. I feel my eyes start to burn but try to press it back, and squeeze his hand in turn. “The difference between us, Franklin, is I’m willing to help him change.”</p><p>I stare down at him. I can’t help it. Watching him face down Franklin with that expression of certainty, of resolution… I love him. I don’t know why he stays, but I love him.</p><p>No one has a chance to respond as we are flooded in the headlights of an approaching car, barreling towards us and squealing to a stop just feet from me. The Humberts step cautiously from their car, knowing they’ve interrupted something, but unsure of what to do about it. I lock eyes with Mrs. Humbert and nod. And then I turn away, Elliott’s hand gripped tightly in my own.</p><p>“I loved you!” Franklin screams from behind me, his voice thick with desperate tears. “I just wanted to help you!”</p><p>I turn, my face soft and understanding. “I know. Goodbye, Franklin.”</p><p>We walk away. I don’t look back, blocking out the scream from the man I once loved as his parents entreat him to get in the car. I can feel myself begin to shake, feel my throat get tight as I try to keep my composure. I bite my cheek until I taste blood.</p><p>Elliott strokes his thumb gently against my hand, and I pour every ounce of my attention into that touch, that motion. Franklin’s sobs fade away, and Elliott leans his head against my shoulder.</p><p>His voice is tender, relief flooding through every every sound as he says,</p><p>“Let’s go home.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>In my notes I wrote “Elliott takes Alexander’s hand. Smol <i>It’s Quiet Uptown</i> energy.”<br/>So now I’ve had that stuck in my head all day.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. Spoons</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Chapter 31</b><br/>
<em>Spoons</em>
</p><p>Evelyn insisted on takeout. Elliott insisted on a movie. Both of them insisted I sit in the middle of the couch, and now both of them are sleeping soundly against me while I patiently wait for the credits to roll.</p><p>Elliott is snoring softly, snuggled up against my chest, his legs tucked under him, his arm draped over my lap.</p><p>Evelyn’s head is lolled against my shoulder, a bowl with the dregs of popcorn precariously balanced on her lap.</p><p>
  
</p><p>As the bowl starts to slip, I shift, catching it, my arm jostling her awake.</p><p>She blinks wearily, looking up at me, taking a moment to remember the series of events that led her here.</p><p>“Did I fall asleep?” she asks drearily.</p><p>“Quite a while ago,” I say softly.</p><p>She yawns, pats my leg, then struggles a bit to stand with a chorus of popping joints.</p><p>“Take him to bed, will you?” she smiles bemusedly. She cradles her popcorn bowl and meanders out of the living room, shuffling towards the kitchen. Shortly after, I hear her bedroom door close.</p><p>I reach for the remote, turn off the movie, the room dipping into near darkness.</p><p>I turn my attention to Elliott, his full lips parted, his face peaceful in sleep. I catch myself smiling at him, the way his brow furrows, the soft snores he makes with every intake of breath. I run a thumb along his cheek, whispering softly to him.</p><p>“Elliott. Let’s get you to bed, shall we?”</p><p>I gather him in my arms and stand, cradling him against me. His weight tugs softly down against my arms, and his eyes flicker drearily open as I carry him up the stairs.</p><p>“Are you carrying me to bed?” he asks, his voice as sleepy as his eyes.</p><p>“I am,” I say.</p><p>“I’m a… grown ass man,” he stifles a yawn, making no attempt to escape my arms.</p><p>“Should I put you down?” I ask with a smirk. He groans, nuzzles into my chest.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“I thought not,” I chuckle softly, nudging his bedroom door open with my foot. I carry him to his bed and lay him down, sitting at his feet and carefully removing his shoes. I reach for the fly of his jeans, gently drawing it open, sliding his pants carefully off his hips and along his legs.</p><p>“Are you… undressing me?” he moans softly, making no attempt to stop me.</p><p>“You shouldn’t sleep in your clothes. It isn’t good for them,” I say, shifting his sweater up under him, slowly and carefully moving it along his form, sliding it over his head, down along his arms. I fold the sweater and jeans with care and set them on his nightstand. “Good night, Elliott,” I whisper as I draw his blankets over him, kiss his forehead gently, then turn to go. A hand grasps my own, and I turn to find him blinking wearily up at me.</p><p>“Are you leaving?” he asks.</p><p>“Should I not?”</p><p>His fingers tighten on mine. “You should come to bed.”</p><p>I can’t withold the smile. I kick off my shoes, set them next to his, slide my own jeans from my form, and then I hesitate. He’s watching me with dreary eyes. Slowly, trying not to show my own anxiety, I draw my sweater up and over my head, draping it over his footboard. The sleep clears from his eyes as they soak in my form.</p><p>“Are you sure you’re comfortable with that?” he asks, propping himself up on an arm.</p><p>I sit by his side, turning into him as he sits up. I take his hand in mine, draw it to my chest. Hesitation, resolve, and I press his hand against my skin. It burns. But only for a moment.</p><p>“Is it okay?” he asks, holding still, staring at his tanned hand against my pale chest.</p><p>“It’s perfect,” I say, releasing his hand and running my own along his jawline.</p><p>His fingers spread out over my skin, wandering slowly, tracing lines of my muscles and memorizing every curve. His other hand slides along my waist, tracing shivers along my skin. I draw him into me, chastely set my lips against his, slow and delicate. As I pull away, his eyes brimming with emotion and fascination, I can’t hold back the words.</p><p>“I love you,” I whisper, and they sound imperfect coming from my voice, rough and coarse. For a moment he says nothing, just stares, dumbfounded. And for a moment I think I’ve perhaps made a terrible mistake. He tucks his head into my neck, his shoulders shaking as he chuckles softly. “Have I… said something humourous ?” I ask stiffly.</p><p>He immediately straightens up, eyes wide. “No! You just… you just caught me off guard! I didn’t think I could say it. I wanted to! But I didn’t think I was brave enough. And then you said it first.”</p><p>He slides into my lap, hands cradling my face, trying to hold back a grin that threatens to split his face in two.</p><p>“I love you, too, Alex,” he says, his voice breaking at the end; whether by a chuckle or a sob, I can’t tell. He kisses me deeply, pressing his bare chest against mine, and what once felt like a burning touch now feels like electricity popping between us. I wrap my arms around him, desperate to hold every inch of him against me.</p><p>The closeness of him, the way he touches all of me as our mouths blend together, the echo of his words still lingering in my ears… Everything is perfect. I don’t want to ever let him go, don’t want to ever not be kissing these lips, holding his slight body against mine.</p><p>I can feel Elliott harden as he sits on me, as his lips begin to wander down my face, along my neck. He presses me down gently onto the bed, his hips rising up off of me, kissing paths down my chest.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Elliott, wait,” I say, drawing his face back up from its journey south, his expression tangled up in confusion. “Maybe we shouldn’t, not tonight.”</p><p>“Oh. Sorry, sure, yeah, o-of course. Is something wrong?”</p><p>“No, no, nothing is wrong. Everything is,” I hesitate, reaching up for his face, running my thumb along his cheek. “Everything is perfect. I just… want it to stay that way.”</p><p>Elliott lowers his hips to sit on me, his hands on my chest, comprehension dawning on his features. “You’re scared you’re gonna hurt me?”</p><p>“It’s not gone, Elliott. The anger. With Franklin… with myself. I think I hoped confronting him might just… make it disappear. But I don’t think it was ever about him. And I don’t know if I can control it yet.” I heave a sigh, hampered in part by the weight of him on my stomach. “I just don’t want to ruin tonight.”</p><p>Elliott doesn’t say anything for a moment, which must take an inexorable amount of effort on his part. He just keeps swirling his fingers along my chest, tracing the patterns of my chest hair, sucking in his lower lip thoughtfully.</p><p>“I get that,” he says finally. “Do you actually not want to fool around, or are you just worried you’ll let things get out of hand?”</p><p>My eyes float down his form as he sits on me, the little roll of his belly as he hunches, the partial erection pressing gently against his underwear.</p><p>“More the latter.”</p><p>“Okay. So… how do you feel about me doing stuff to you, then?”</p><p>I laugh, half-closed eyes gazing up at him. “Doing stuff? Fine, Elliott. I suppose you may <em>do stuff</em> to me.”</p><p>He pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re making fun of me.”</p><p>“Yes. I am.”</p><p>“That’s mean! I’m trying to be sexy and stuff!”</p><p>The impulse in me to teasingly grab him and pin him to the bed, tell him how sexy he is, washes over me like a flood. But with it are thoughts of what I should do to him once I’ve pinned him. And those freeze my limbs. He sees the conflict in my eyes, his pout softening. He leans down and kisses me.</p><p>“We’ll figure it all out together, okay? I like it when you’re rough. But we can figure out how to keep you, um, grounded, too. You don’t have to do this alone. Okay?”</p><p>“... Okay.”</p><p>Another kiss, longer this time, his tongue begging to taste mine. He slides off of me, ushering me onto my side, and curls up against my back. His arms snake around me, running along my chest, relishing this new territory to explore.</p><p>He nuzzles his face between my shoulder blades, kissing my back, hand tracing lower down my torso. Despite my attempts to control it, I can feel my cock throb as his fingers play at the waistband of my underwear, slowly dipping below. Delicate fingers run along my length, ushering my erection to grow. I can feel his own press against my ass.</p><p>“Take off your underwear,” he whispers. It feels like a secret, not a directive. I do, he follows suit, then returns to his explorations.</p><p>His fingers meander overtop my hips, cupping my ass gently, and he shifts further down to better reach my hole. At his touch a jolt shoots through my body; I can feel myself clench, stiffen.</p><p>“Sorry, is that not okay?” he asks gently at my back.</p><p>“No, it’s fine, I just… the last time was…”</p><p>He sits up, his fingers retreating, draping himself over my side. “Would you prefer if I didn’t touch there?” he asks.</p><p>I had forbade Franklin from touching me there after that night. And once the shame had started to fade, I had punished him for it thoroughly. He thought it was part of the play, thought the blows were just for fun. He didn’t know how much I meant them. How much I wanted to make him hurt for it.</p><p><em>But Elliott isn’t Franklin,</em> I tell myself, as if I needed the reminder. Elliott was nothing like him. Elliott made me feel safe.</p><p>“No. I want you to,” I reassure, stretching back to kiss him. He smiles, and his face is radiant and beautiful and it eases every tension in my body.</p><p>He reaches over me, digs out a few items from the bedside table, and retreats once more behind my back. His fingers find their way back to me, slick and cool this time with lube.</p><p>I close my eyes, focus on the touch and warmth of his skin against mine. Focus on the sensations as he runs a slick finger over my hole, pressing in gently.</p><p>I focus on the gentleness of his touch, the kindness of his words. The way he charms strangers and unconditionally loves friends. The way he stammers when he’s nervous, the way words elude him. Everything about him I love, and everything about him makes me feel safe. I feel myself relax at his touch as he presses his fingertip into me, easing it in and out, more each time, curling it up in just the right way to touch places I had forgotten could feel so good.</p><p>“Fuck, Elliott,” I groan, trying to push back the sensation of feeling exposed and just focus on the thrill of being touched. Apparently the reaction encourages him because he starts to usher another finger in.</p><p>Something inside screams at me, hissing words of judgment and disgust. Pondering derisively how I can enjoy something so emasculating and humiliating.</p><p>“You okay?” Elliott asks softly at my back. “You’re tensing up.”</p><p>“Fine,” I rumble, trying to push those thoughts back. Bury them deeper.</p><p>His fingers slip out of me and after a moment I feel him align the tip of his cock against me. “Let me know if I go too fast? I’ve, uh, you know. Never done this before,” he says, his voice tight with concentration. I try to relax as he shifts, pressing into me with halting motions, his fingers scraping against my back as he moans softly between my shoulder blades.</p><p>
  
</p><p>Small thrusts usher him deeper into me, his size filling yet not taxing. His arms wrap around me, holding me tightly as he moves his hips against me. I can feel his heart beat rapidly against me, can feel mine fall into rhythm with his. His thrusts remain steady, gentle, as I touch myself, rubbing a finger over my tip. He whispers things to me I can barely hear as I shut my eyes, relishing his touch, his movements, the puff of air against my skin with every gasp and moan. I reach back, run a hand along his body, feel his ass tighten as he thrusts into me, follow his arm as it drapes over me, grasping his hand in my own. His grip tightens as his thrusts become more erratic, as his breathing becomes louder. He whines softly into me and with a shuddering yelp he thrusts hard into me, holding, quivering, then melting into a gasping pool at my back, his softening member sliding out of me in relief.</p><p>“Does my lovely little slut feel better?” I coo back at him, turning my head towards him.</p><p>“Y-yes,” he gasps, nuzzling his sweaty face against my back. “Do you want to switch? Or I could blow you or—”</p><p>For a moment I ponder the tempting notion of turning him, recreating this moment with me behind, longing to hear my skin slap against his. But the notion of experiencing that rise, that building, that peak… of losing control. I don’t think I’m ready for it. Not yet. I don’t think I trust myself enough just yet.</p><p>“No, pet,” I whisper, turning around to face him. I kiss his curls. “This is all I want. You just lie here. Let me clean you off.”</p><p>I get up without another word, retrieve a warm washcloth, clean him gently with sweet words kissed into the crooks of him. He purrs contentedly with every tender touch. I smooth his hair from his cleaned brow, tell him I love him, and he repeats the words with a smile.</p><p>I settle back into bed and he clings again to my back, falling asleep within minutes. I lie there in the quiet, soaking in his warmth, slowly giving into sleep’s embrace as my mind tries to map out all the ways I’m going to strive to make him happy.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Alright, have your fluff, you deserve it.<br/>There were too many things I wanted to draw in this chapter, but I just didn’t have time. T.T</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0032"><h2>32. A Name</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>  </b>
</p><p>
  <strong>Chapter 32</strong><br/>
<em>A Name</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, so, first you gotta pick a race.”</p><p>Elliott points at an array of options on the screen before me, the choices of which range from irritatingly cute to rather horrific. We’re in Makoa’s room, crowded full with everyone and their laptops. It’s loud, a little warm, and nothing at all I would have chosen to do for myself. But it makes him happy. So here I am.</p><p>
  
</p><p>Elliott and I are sitting on the spare bed, our backs against the wall as he tries to help me make a character for their game.</p><p>“Why are there animals,” I say with a scowl. I point to one of the portraits. “That’s just a cow. And that’s a wolf.”</p><p>“There’s pandas, too!” Natalie pipes in from the other side of the bed where’s she’s tucked up next to Renee.</p><p>“That doesn’t make sense,” I grouse. “Why can’t I just be a human?”</p><p>“Wrong faction,” Elliott says. “You’d be our enemy if you did that.”</p><p>“Kinda was for a bit,” Octavio barks from nearby, looking up from his screen with a grin. Ajay smacks him.</p><p>“Hey, watch ya mouth,” she corrects. He looks properly chastised until she looks away, and the facade breaks back into a mischievous smile.</p><p>“Hmm… What are you, Natalie?” I ask, peering around Elliott to see her.</p><p>“I started out with an undead warlock so Renee and I could start out together, but the starting area was too scary, so now I’m a goblin,” she says with a grin. “They’re kinda cute and small and mischievous.”</p><p>“Hmm. Apt.” I turn back to the computer screen. “Should I find something big and threatening, then? What about this big green creature with the tusks?”</p><p>“Eh, I think you’re more like these guys. Big and snuggly,” Elliott grins as he points to the cow person, nuzzling his face into my neck.</p><p>“Ugh. Just go fuck him in the bathroom and get it over with, <em>Mijo</em>,” Loba groans with a heavy eye roll.</p><p>Elliott flushes a thousand shades of red and leans away from me self-consciously. The comment earns her scowls from Makoa and B, and Ajay actually gets up, smacks Loba, and sits back down.</p><p>“I don’t know what to pick. Everything looks ridiculous. Show me what your person looks like,” I grumble. Elliott opens up the game on his own laptop and selects a character named <em>Mirage</em>, shifting the screen to show me.</p><p>“... It’s a girl,” I say, observing the blonde-haired, pale-skinned character with long, pointy ears. “Why.”</p><p>Elliott laughs uncomfortably. “Uh, I dunno? I liked the hairstyles better?”</p><p>I take the laptop from him, hold it closer to better examine his virtual persona. I nod, handing it back to him.</p><p>“I would like to be a girl as well, then. Here, make me a girl. Then our characters can be lesbians and date,” I say with resolution.</p><p>“Oh, um, I know its kinda dumb, but actually my character is already kinda dating someone,” Elliott says with an awkward chuckle. I scowl.</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>I follow his gaze to Octavio, who is grinning widely. “Sorry, <em>güey</em>, I bought him flowers and everything.”</p><p>“It’s not actually a thing in game, it was just for fun,” Elliott quickly adds.</p><p>“That is fine. I’m sure my character can handle the both of you,” I say, chucking his chin dismissively. Ajay starts to cackle as both Elliott and Octavio flush violently red. I suppress the grin and usher my laptop towards Elliott. “Here. You make her. I want long hair.”</p><p>Elliott, trying very hard not to make eye contact with anyone as Ajay continues to laugh at Octavio (“I’m not blushing! Shut up, Che!”), takes my computer and starts to fiddle with the character creation. In a few minutes, he presents me with an elegant, if irritated looking, character with long, flowing locks. I nod with satisfaction.</p><p>“This will do.”</p><p>“Okay, now you gotta pick a class. Probably should just give you a damage role… you wanna stab things or magic things?” Elliott asks, pointing to a new array of unintelligeable options. I suppress a groan as he starts to explain each option to me. We finally settle on a rogue (“You can do poisony things! That’s like chemistry, right?”).</p><p>“Hey Elliott. We got time for a quick raid while you show the newbie the ropes?” Anita asks.</p><p>“Yeah! You guys do your thing, we’ll just grind,” Elliott says. I shoot him a skeptical look.</p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p>“Oh! Uh, n-not like that! It’s just, like, leveling you fast. Don’t worry about it.”</p><p>“Alright, everybody, let’s get partied up,” Makoa booms. “Invites sent!”</p><p>As everyone settles in to whatever a raid is, Elliott nestles in closer against me. I kiss his mess of curls, breathing in deeply the cinnamon and burnt coffee scent I’d come to love.</p><p>“Okay,” he says, utterly undistracted from the prospect of playing this game. “Now you need a name. And then I can make that your name in the group chat, too! Any ideas?”</p><p>
  
</p><p>I stare at the blank input, the flashing cursor awaiting a decision. I look around the room, surrounded by the warmth and comfort of people who have freely accepted me, despite everything. I look at Natalie, laughing at something Renee has whispered into her ear. I look at Elliott, who has briefly been distracted by something Octavio says. Elliott laughs with beautiful authenticity, and my chest leaps at the lyrical sound.</p><p>The haze around me is, for now, suppressed. The personas Elliott sometimes builds for others fade away, and I see simply him.</p><p>Here, now, we can both be our purest selves. Unburdened by expectations that hound and experiences that haunt. Here, we’re safe, and there’s no need of the smoke and mirrors we build up to protect ourselves.</p><p>And I know things won’t be perfect. I know Elliott will keep returning to the masks that keep him safe when nothing else will. I know my haze will descend again, and I’ll have to find the willpower to see through it. But for just a moment, I’m not afraid of what I am capable of. It’s funny, actually, to worry about such things when he is here, pressed up against me. When Natalie is so close, basking in the joy of belonging. I’m not afraid of being a monster, of being a cancer, of poisoning and ruining everything in my wake.</p><p>My fingers reach for the keys and input a simple word.</p><p>Elliott glances up at me, brow quirked in a question, uncertain smile tugging at his lips.</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>I lean down, kiss him gently. “I think it’s fitting. Alright. Make this thing start now,” I say, turning my attention quickly to the screen before I’m too overwhelmed by those caramel eyes.</p><p>“Okay, but here. Put in your headphones, you’ll wanna hear the inter-intruh-<em>the start</em>.”</p><p>Elliott slips an earbud into my ear, its mate into his, then lays his head on my shoulder as he clicks <em>Confirm</em>.</p><p>He pulls out his phone as the game loads, opening up the group chat. I wrap an arm around him as the intro plays, pressing him tightly against me, soaking in his warmth and his scent, every ounce of social anxiety fading away as I surround myself in him. My phone buzzes, and I glance at the notification with a smile.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Mirage has set your nickname to <b>Caustic</b>.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Holy cow, y’all, I can’t believe I finished this dang thing. Thank you so much for reading along, for your kudos, and especially for your comments! Life is rough right now for a lot of us, and this really put such a bright spot in my life thanks to all of you. I appreciate y’all so much! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0033"><h2>33. Fan Art!!! And a BONUS CHAPTER</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Y’all, I’m incredibly excited because a couple of you wanted to do fan art! And OH MY GOD everything turned out so beautiful!</p><p>And since I’ve missed writing and drawing my boys, I decided to use the Smutember prompt to write ONE. LAST. CHAPTER.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>FAN ART</strong>
</p><p>I’m legit shook that people wanted to do fan art for this? But also incredible honoured! Thank you so much! I don’t think I can quite express how blown away I was!!! &lt;3</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>© <a href="https://twitter.com/cryatoicart?s=21">CryArt</a></p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p><strong>Okay! Back to me! I’m doing Smutember this year, and decided to use yesterday’s theme to inspire this bonus chapter (set a year and a half after the end)! </strong> <strong>I felt so much second hand cringe writing it. XD Enjoy?</strong></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>BONUS CHAPTER</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>You Can’t Touch a Mirage</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Elliott, for christ's sake, would you detach yourself from me? I’m trying to open the door.”</p><p>Alex fumbles with a set of keys outside his apartment door, nudging Elliott in the side in a futile attempt to get him to stop hanging off his arm. Ugh… why are keys so hard to comprehend when one is inebriated?</p><p>“Everything is swirly. Alex is everything supposed to be swirly?”</p><p>“After the amount of alcohol you consumed tonight, yes, I imagine everything would be quite <em>swirly,</em>” Alex mumbles, finally finding the proper key and moving to insert it.</p><p>“Oh <em>pffffff</em>,” Elliott says, leaning into Alex’s arm heavily and causing him to lose his grip once more on the keys. “You drank more than I did.”</p><p>“I easily eclipse your size, my dear.”</p><p>“Did you just call yourself fat?” Elliott giggles, shifting between Alex and the door. The larger man growls, his attempts to open his own apartment foiled once again by the man now running roaming hands underneath his suit jacket and along his admittedly softening torso. “It’s okay, I like your belly,” Elliott coos with a grin. His hands wind back and trace up along Alex’s spine as he tries to pull Alex into a kiss.</p><p>Alex pushes him back into the door with an affected snarl, nipping playfully at Elliott’s ears as he hisses, “Be a good boy and hold the fuck still.”</p><p>With a soft moan, Elliott sinks back into the door. He registers the click of a lock too late as the door is pressed open and he staggers backwards into a dark apartment.</p><p>Elliott stumbles, unable to catch his balance, what with the world being all swirly. He falls back on his butt, erupting in a series of giggles unbecoming a man of his age.</p><p>Alex rolls his eyes, stepping over the threshold and reaching for the lamp by the door, flicking it on. The small loft apartment is flooded in a soft glow. It is simple, pristine, and tastefully filled with books and houseplants. Elliott lies on the ground, legs splayed, arm draped up over his face, his chest vibrating with drunken cackling. Alex sets his keys on the entryway table with a small clatter, using the surface to steady himself as his balance wavers.</p><p>It had been a good night. The evening’s festivities had gone off without a hitch, dinner was delicious, and the hours of drinking afterward with the entire crew had solidified it as a good, if busy, night.</p><p>And they really had consumed far too much to drink tonight. Not without good cause. Makoa, Anita, and himself had all just graduated from their bachelor programs. Far from the end of his education, but at least a solid first step. It feels like the end of an era, on the precipice of something new. A fresh start, perhaps.</p><p>He still can’t believe it. It’s already been a year and a half since coming to ALU. A year and a half since he met Elliott. Since everything changed. He’s grateful he decided to pursue his postgrad at the same school. He isn’t quite sure he’s ready to face every morning without the man who is currently chuckling softly to himself on his apartment floor.</p><p>“Kindly get yourself up off my floor,” Alex says with a grumble, stepping over Elliott’s supine form and kicking his side gently. This only serves to send Elliott into another array of giggles.</p><p>“Alex, ha, no, heehee, wait,” Elliott objects, trying to track the hulking form as he moves about his small apartment, turning on lights and shrugging out of his suit jacket. “Help me up, Alex. Alllleeeeeeex, please.”</p><p>With a groaning sigh, Alex stands over him, arms crossed over his chest, staring down with judgmental eyes. “What a mess,” he says, brows knitted. He reaches down, lifting Elliott up underneath his arms like a child and setting his unsteady feet on the ground. Elliott wavers, presses a hand against Alex’s chest to steady himself, then leans in with a dopey grin.</p><p>“I’m really nailing this whole standing thing,” Elliott says, even as he sways into the other man. Alex laughs, deep and rolling in his belly, sliding hands along Elliott’s hips.</p><p>“You won’t need to work so hard to stand in the bedroom,” Alex rumbles, fingers creeping up past Elliott’s waistband, sliding under his sweater until he touches warm, soft skin. Elliott’s eyes clear briefly at the touch, pulling Alex’s hands off of him.</p><p>“H-hold on there, big guy,” Elliott stammers. “I’ve got a <em>surprise</em> for you, first!”</p><p>“What sort of surprise?” Alex asks, not incredibly interested in being kept waiting with whatever Elliott deems surprise-worthy.</p><p>Elliott doesn't respond, heads into the kitchen with nervous energy and downs an entire glass of water in a feeble attempt to start the sobering process. Alex only hopes he doesn't sober too quickly. His boyfriend is rather fun to fuck whilst inebriated. The sounds he makes are… particularly appealing.</p><p>Elliott pulls one of the kitchen table chairs over into the middle of the living room, tripping over it in the process and collapses into the chair himself, waiting for another fit of giggles to fade. He finally gains control of his faculties while Alex watches on with a shake of his head. Elliott takes a big breath, stands in an almost normal way, and pats the seat of the chair.</p><p>“Here, sit down here,” Elliott says, swaying slightly and catching himself. Alex complies, but Elliott is already back in the kitchen, fussing with his phone and drinking another glass of water. <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/5FR54UnizyI8pE5E9Zb0Dt?si=g6NwYrRQSfKhPo3ycdfuOA">Music</a> starts to come from his phone, heavy and smooth with driving rhythms and deep bass and he sets it on the counter. Elliott works his way with less-than-steady feet back to Alex.</p><p>He leans down, tilting Alex’s head up. Lips fit together, part, shift. Alex rumbles softly into Elliott’s mouth, hands beginning to explore, before Elliott pulls back.</p><p>As he does, he starts moving his hips slowly in time with the rhythm, fingering the edges of his jacket, splaying it slightly, stepping back to give Alex a full view.</p><p>Alex’s lips pull into an amused, if patronizing, smile.</p><p>“And just what the hell are you doing, Elliott?” Alex asks, slouching slightly in his seat as he watches Elliott. The movement of his hips accentuates just how tight a pair of slacks the boy can get into, and just how well they display his assets.</p><p>“I’m not Elliott tonight,” he replies. “I’m Mirage. And my Caustic just gets to watch. Okay?”</p><p>“Are you trying to tell me I’m not allowed to touch you?” Alex presses.</p><p>Elliott just winks, covering up a sheepish grin as he slowly peels his jacket off his shoulders. “You can’t touch a mirage, right?”</p><p>Alex wonders how many times he practiced that line, but he withholds his teasing for a moment as Elliott turns around and shifts to display what he knows is an excellent ass. He tosses his jacket aside, the movement making him stagger slightly.</p><p>It’s fine. He’s pretty sure Alex didn’t notice.</p><p>Alex chuckles, more amused than aroused by his boyfriend’s display. As Elliott turns around, stepping closer to him, the larger man reaches out and grabs his hips, pulling him sharply on his lap. Despite his valiant attempts at sober movements, Elliott fails to keep his balance and he staggers forward onto Alex’s lap.</p><p>“Such a filthy little display,” Alex growls with amusement, grinding himself up into Elliott. The barista moans, eyes blinking closed as he moves his hips against Alex in response for just a moment. He realizes himself, eyes darting open and taking a moment to refocus. He affects his own petulant scowl.</p><p>“H-hey, no touching the merchen-merdchern-marshen- th-the goods!” Elliott starts to scramble back off of Alex, equilibrium wavering, before falling back on top of him. Alex tries to pull him against his hardening crotch, but Elliott presses back against his chest. His face is screwed up in a willful attempt to ignore his inebriation. He smacks Alex’s hands off his hips, raising up off of his lap and leaning forward to loom over Alex, their lips barely an inch apart.</p><p>“No touching,” he directs, a tone of authority kissing his words in a way Alex had never heard before. Alex leans back in acquiescence, amusement fading to interest.</p><p>“Understood,” he says with a deep, rumbling purr.</p><p>Elliott nods in satisfaction, backing off Alex’s lap, trying to get back into the rhythm of the music. He fortunately has very little shame, and even less when drunk. Alex might find the situation rather kitschy, but he had to admit it was slightly endearing to watch Elliott humiliate himself for his sake.</p><p>The sweater is lifted slowly, displaying that perfect stomach Alex loved to run his hands along. Is it just the way Elliott is moving or are his slacks lower cut than what he usually wears? They are tantalizingly near impropriety.</p><p>The wide collar of the floral sweater easily slips over Elliott’s head, leaving his curls intact. Alex will make sure they are properly tousled before the night is over.</p><p>Elliott steps towards him again, straddling his lap, reaching for Alex’s hands. He runs them up along his chest, controlling their movements, allowing careful exploration of a body Alex had been exploring thoroughly since they first met. Alex had to admit it was rather infuriating to be allowed to touch, but not of his own volition, and only centered on the smooth, amber torso swaying before him.</p><p>“You’re toying with me, Elliott,” Alex rumbles.</p><p>“I think you mean <em>Mirage</em>.”</p><p>Alex makes an irritated click with his lips. “Very well. <em>Mirage.</em> How much longer before I can—”</p><p>“No talking during the performance, sir,” Elliott replies, pressing a finger to Alex’s lips. The <em>sir</em> hadn’t been deliberate. Just a little playful addition to stay in character. But that little word spurs that low, hunger-filled growl deep in Alex’s chest that Elliott knows means he is thoroughly pleased.</p><p>And to be honest, this really is all a little embarrassing. He thought it seemed fun when he, Natalie, and Renee all watched <em>Magic Mike XXL</em> together last week. He didn’t quite think about how incredibly personal and intimate it would feel when performing just for one person. One person who is staring at him with amusement and hunger all wrapped up in one tidy little package of patronization.</p><p>Ugh, why’s that have to be such a hot combo?</p><p>Elliott’s hands go to the waist of his slacks, fumbling for just a moment before unfastening, slowly sliding the zipper down. He presses his hips towards Alex to allow his crotch to press through before stepping back again. He kicks his shoes off with “ease” (he’d practiced that to make sure they slipped off and didn’t go flying, but judging from the distant crash he failed this round). He turns around, making sure his ass is on prominent display as a distraction for how damn hard these slacks are to get off.</p><p><em>Stop thinking so much, Witt!</em> Elliott thinks furiously, realizing he’d gotten out of sync with the music. <em>I mean, Mirage. Geez, even I’m breaking character.</em> He manages to slip the slacks over an ankle before staggering, arms flailing, Alex refusing to move to help as he watches cruelly. Balance regained, pants discarded. Phew. Nailed it.</p><p>
  
</p><p>He glances back over his shoulder, pleased to realize Alex’s full attention is now fixed on him, the humour slipping in favour of the hunger as he stares at the underwear Elliott picked up special for tonight. He does a slow spin, displaying himself. He can see Alex’s fingers itching to reach for him, to run along the lace trim, to nibble the little bow at the front, already taxed by Elliott’s semi pressing against it.</p><p>Elliott turns his back to Alex once more, just a little closer, bending down as far as his gradually increasing balance will allow. It feels lower than it is. The lace underwear bares his cheeks as he displays himself for Alex for just a moment before pivoting and taking slow steps and straddling Alex once more. He moves over top of him, rocking his hips, sliding the underwear down just a bit along one hip, teasing with a glimpse of his tip before hiding it once more.</p><p>
  
</p><p>The energy rippling from Alex is nearly overwhelming. Every bit of restraint in the man is in full play, keeping his hands down, not touching.</p><p>Alex had been used to watching that body move over him, watching his belly undulate as he would rock himself sensually along Alex’s cock. But now, to see him move over him similarly without the satisfaction of his asshole wrapped tightly around Alex is deliciously aggravating.</p><p>The cocky little bastard can tell it’s starting to drive him wild, too. He rubs up against Alex with such an accidental air that it is certainly deliberate. And then the little slut climbs up on the chair, feet barely fitting on the edges against Alex’s thighs.</p><p>Elliott’s lace-covered crotch is level with Alex’s face, tantalizingly close, as he moves his hips in time with the music, thrusting softly toward Alex before pulling away. Fifteen minutes ago the boy could barely stand up straight and now this.</p><p>Alex dares a kiss, unable to restrain himself from pressing his lips against Elliott’s bulge.</p><p>“Hey! I said no touching!” Elliott objects, his voice deeper than usual, the sound making Alex’s cock jerk slightly. Elliott’s hand grips Alex’s ponytail, tilting his head back with more force than he usually shows. Alex’s breath catches in his throat, anger at the dominant move fading as he surveys the body looming above him. Elliott presses his semi against Alex’s face, gripping his hair more tightly.</p><p>“No touching a mirage, yes. You’ve said,” Alex grins with wolffish hunger, amused by his partner’s attempt at control. Undeterred, his fingers run along the lace of the underwear, playing at the bow, running a thumb with heavy pressure against Elliott’s cock. Elliott’s grip on Alex’s hair lessens, and he moans as his posture starts to sink.</p><p>“Alex, come on,” Elliott whines softly. “I’m trying to be sexy here.”</p><p>Alex pulls him down on his lap, grabbing his ass and sliding him forward against him. Elliott draws in his lip and bites it just enough to make the rest of it plump out deliciously.</p><p>“And you’ve succeeded marvelously, my little Mirage,” Alex coos, pressing lips into Elliott’s neck. “But you’ve teased me plenty. I think it’s time you paid the price.”</p><p>In one fluid and sudden movement, Alex grabs Elliott and hoists him over his shoulder, standing as he does, his arm wrapped around Elliott’s legs to keep him in place. Elliott gasps, the air pressed from his lungs as he dangles helplessly across Alex’s broad shoulders.</p><p>The song on Elliott’s phone fades as Alex carries him to the bedroom to prove just how well he can touch a Mirage.</p>
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